Fifty Shades Rewritten
by Satan's Mother
Summary: Suppose Ana had a more independent, firey spirit and a different past (because I like to write mentally unstable characters). Now imagine the entire story with these alterations.
1. Chapter 1

**After reading FSOG, I thought it needed some revision. This WILL NOT be like the original, so if you love FSOG as it is, go away right now. This is all just what I want to happen. There will be a lot of fluff, a lot of drama, and probably a lot of lemons. Reviews and constructive criticism are very much welcome. Happy reading!**

* * *

I scowl with frustration at myself in the mirror. Damn my hair - it just won't behave, and damn Katherine Kavanagh for being ill and subjecting me to this ordeal. I should be studying for my final exams, which are next week, yet here I am trying to brush my hair into submission. I must not sleep with it wet. I must not sleep with it wet. Reciting this mantra several times, I attempt, once more, to bring it under control with the brush. I roll my eyes in exasperation and gaze at the pale, brown-haired girl with blue eyes too big for her face staring back at me, and give up. My only option is to restrain my wayward hair in a ponytail and hope that I look semi presentable.

Kate, my roommate, has chosen today of all days to succumb to the flu.

Why is this a problem? one might ask. It is a problem because she has fought to arrange an interview for the student newspaper with some rich bastard I don't care about. She has waited months for the date set to finally arrive. Alas, she caught the GODDAMN FLU, so I must fill in for her.

Never mind that I have final exams to cram for, one essay to finish, and I'm supposed to be working this afternoon. Today I am driving one hundred and sixty-five miles to downtown Seattle in order to meet the hot-shot CEO of Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc. Yes, he is a respectable man, as he has made a name for himself, and he is a major benefactor of our University, therefore his time is extraordinarily precious – exceedingly more precious than mine, apparently. Damn Kate's journalist nature.

Exiting the bathroom, I find my roommate curled up on the sofa in the living room, clutching a box of tissues.

"Ana, I'm sorry." she says for the hundredth time. _She better be damn sorry. _She gives me big puppy eyes, to which I respond by scowling.

I can't help noticing how, even sickly, she is still not unattractive. Her strawberry blonde hair is secured in a bun and her green eyes are bright, although now red-rimmed and runny.

"I know, Kate." I say with a small sigh. "Here are the questions and my mini-disc recorder. Just press record here. Make notes, I'll transcribe it all." she says, her voice hoarse.

"I know nothing about him," I mutter, placing the items she handed me in my messenger bag. "You'll do wonderfully. Thank you so much, Ana." "You're welcome. Now get back to bed." I order.

Leaving with a small smile, I think again about how I cannot believe I have let Kate talk me into this.

The roads are clear as I set off from Vancouver toward Portland. It's early, and I don't have to be in Seattle until two this afternoon. Fortunately, Kate's offered her Mercedes CLK to help me make the trip.

My destination is the headquarters of Mr. Christian Grey's global enterprise. The building is a huge twenty-story structure, an architect's wet dream, with Grey House written boldly in steel over the glass front doors.

One forty-five the clock reads when I arrive, joyous that I'm not late as I walk into the enormous glass, steel, and white sandstone lobby.

Behind the gargantuan stone desk, a heavily made-up young blonde smiles pleasantly at me. She's wearing an unnaturally sharp suit. "I'm here to see Mr. Grey. Anastasia Steele for Katherine Kavanagh."

"One moment, Miss Steele." She arches her eyebrow, gazing at me with... oh my, is that disdain I see? _Tut tut, Miss Five-pound-face. A smile goes a mile. _ I giggle internally at my sarcasm. "Please sign in here, Miss Steele. Take the last elevator on the right, twentieth floor." Her smile is sickly sweet. After signing, she hands me a pass with VISITOR stamped on it in obnoxious letters.

A brief thanks, and I walk to the bank of elevators. A speedy and smooth elevator ride later, the doors slide open to reveal, guess what? GLASS, STEEL, AND WHITE SANDSTONE._ The interior decorator who was paid to do this needs to learn the meaning of "color". _

Another desk, another black and white dressed blonde. She smiles, but seems more sincere than the last. "Miss Steele, have a seat, please." She gestures to a gathering of white leather chairs. I smile, thank her, and sit where directed.

Being as uneducated as I am about this guy, I decide to prepare myself as best as possible. I retrieve the questions from my bag and go through them once to familiarize myself.

To the right, another immaculately dressed blonde enters. _This guy has some weird things for blondes, doesn't he?_

"Miss Steele?" the new blonde - _Is this number two or number three, including the one from downstairs? Eh, I'll go with three. _- "Yes." I stand, mustering up a smile. "Mr. Grey will see you in a moment. May I take your coat?" she offers. "Yes, thank you." I remove the black coat from my body, hand it over to her, and straighten my navy blue blouse.

"Have you been offered a refreshment?" Number 3 asks. "No, I haven't." Number 3 frowns at Number 2. "Would you like tea, coffee, water?" "Glass of iced water, please." "Olivia, a glass of iced for Miss Steele." Number 3 orders sternly. Number 2, Olivia, jumps and hurries away. "My apologies, Miss Steele. Olivia is our new intern. Please have a seat." Number 3 says, smiling sincerely.

Olivia returns a second later. "Your iced water, Miss Steele." "Thank you." I say, taking the glass.

Both blondes return the desk, heels clicking on the sandstone floor.

I'm pondering if it's legal to insist that all of one's employees be blonde when another door opens. A tall, elegantly dressed African-American man with short dreadlocks exits. Turning, he says into the room he just exited, "Golf, this week, Grey."

Olivia jumps again - S_he's like a Chihuahua with that jumping and scurrying. _- and goes to summon the elevator. The man departs into the elevator.

"Mr. Grey will see you now, Miss Steele." Number 3 says, motioning to the door. I take my bag and approach the door. "Go on in." Number 3 says, smiling.

I open the door, and step inside. "Miss Kavanagh." a tall, young man greets, offering me a slender hand. "My apologies, Mr. Grey, but Miss Kavanagh is unavailable. I have come in her stead. Anastasia Steele, it's a pleasure to meet you." I say, accepting and firmly shaking his hand. "Miss Steele, I am Christian Grey." So this is him. I must admit, he is attractive - dressed in a fine gray suit with a white shirt and black tie, looking at me with curious gray eyes, and a head a insane copper hair. _Mr. "Gray" indeed._

His office is much too big for just one man. Before the farthest wall, which is made completely of windows , there's a monstrous, modern, dark wood desk that six people could easily sit around. It matches the coffee table by the couch.

Everything else is white - ceiling, floors, and walls. Except on the wall by the door, where a collection of paintings hangs, thirty-six of them arranged in a square. They are lovely representations of usual household objects painted in such precise detail they appear to be photographs. Placed together, they are exquisite.

"A local artist. Trouton," Grey says when he catches my gaze.

"They're beautiful. Raising ordinary to extraordinary," I murmur, distracted by the paintings. He cocks his head to one side and regards me intently.

"I couldn't agree more, Miss Steele," he replies, his voice soft.

"Would you like to sit?" he offers, gesturing to the L-shaped couch in the sitting area. "Certainly." I reply, walking to the far side of the coffee table. Smoothing my black skirt, I sit and place my bag next to me. I retrieve the recorder and questions.

"Did Miss Kavanagh explain the purpose of the interview?" I ask, crossing my legs and placing the questions on my lap. "Yes. To appear in the graduation issue of the student newspaper as I shall be conferring the degrees at this year's graduation ceremony." he answers. Oh, he'll be there? Interesting. "Wonderful. Shall we begin?" I ask, pressing the start button on the recorder. He grins.

"You're very young to have amassed such an empire. To what do you owe your success?" I look up at him. He looks vaguely disappointed.

"Business is all about people, Miss Steele, and I'm very good at judging people. I know how they tick, what makes them flourish, what doesn't, what inspires them. I employ an exceptional team, and I reward them well." He pauses and fixes me with his gray stare. "My belief is to achieve success in any scheme one has to make oneself master of that scheme, know it inside and out, know every detail. I work very hard to do that. I make decisions based on logic and facts. I have a natural gut instinct that can spot and nurture a good solid idea and good people. The bottom line is, it's always down to good people."

"Maybe you're just lucky." I suggest, raising an eyebrow.

"I don't subscribe to luck or chance, Miss Steele. The harder I work the more luck I seem to have. It really is all about having the right people on your team and directing their energies accordingly. I think it was Harvey Firestone who said 'the growth and development of people is the highest calling of leadership.'"

"You sound like a control freak." I scoff.

"Oh, I exercise control in all things, Miss Steele," he says without a trace of humor in his smile. I look at him, and he holds my gaze steadily. Our expressions display matching impassivity.

"Besides, immense power is acquired by assuring yourself in your secret reveries that you were born to control things." he continues, his voice soft.

"Do you feel that you have immense power?"

"I employ over forty thousand people, Miss Steele. That gives me a certain sense of responsibility - power, if you will. If I were to decide I was no longer interested in the telecommunications businessand sell up, twenty thousand people would struggle to make their mortgage payments after a month or so."

"Do you not have a board to answer to?" I tilting my head to the side. "I own my company, Miss Steele. I answer to no one." I can't help the small smile on my face. _Arrogance like his can only lead to an immense downfall. I've seen it before, and I have no doubt that I'll see it again._

"And do you have any interests outside your work?"

"I have varied interests, Miss Steele." A ghost of a smile touches his lips. "Extremely varied." His eyes are alight with some wicked thought that sends a chill down my spine - and it's not a good chill.

"Care to elaborate on your 'varied interests'?"

He smiles fully, revealing perfect white teeth. "Well, I sail, I fly, and I indulge in other physical pursuits." He sits forward a little in his chair. "I'm a very wealthy man, Miss Steele, and I have expensive and absorbing hobbies."

His heated gaze is making my heart beat faster in a disturbing manner.

I look back at the questions, searching for a subject change.

"You invest in manufacturing. Why, specifically?" I ask.

"I like to build things. I like to know how things work, how to construct and deconstruct. And I have a love of ships."

"That sounds like your heart talking rather than logic and facts." I comment.

His mouth quirks up, and he stares at me with an appraising look.

"Possibly. Though there are people who'd say I don't have a heart."

"Why would they say that?"

"Because they know me well." His lip curls in a wry smile.

"Would your friends say you're easy to get to know?"

"I'm a very private person, Miss Steele. I go a long way to protect my privacy. I don't often give interviews," he trails off.

"Then why did you agree to do this one?"

"Because I'm a benefactor of the University, and for all intents and purposes, I couldn't get Miss Kavanagh off my back. She endlessly badgered my PR people, and I admire that kind of tenacity."

I know how tenacious Kate can be. That's why I'm sitting here when I should be studying for my exams.

"You also invest in farming technologies. Why are you interested in this area?"

"We can't eat money, Miss Steele, and there are too many people on this planet who don't have enough to eat."

"That sounds very philanthropic. Is feeding the world's poor something you are passionate about?"

He shrugs, very non-committal.

"It's shrewd business," he murmurs, though I think he's being disingenuous. I raise my eyebrow, but let it pass and move to the next question.

"Do you have a philosophy? If so, what is it?"

"I don't have a philosophy as such, maybe a guiding principle - Carnegie's: 'A man who acquires the ability to take full possession of his own mind may take possession of anything else to which he is justly entitled.' I'm very singular, driven. I like control - of myself and those around me."

"So you want to possess things." It's not a question.

"I want to deserve to possess them, but yes, bottom line, I do."

"You sound like the ultimate consumer."

"I am." He smiles, but the smile doesn't touch his eyes. Again this is at odds with someone who wants to feed the world, so I can't help thinking that we're talking about something else, but I'm absolutely mystified as to what it is.

Glancing at the next question, I scowl at the paper. This is rather personal, but it's not really my question, so here it goes. "You were adopted. How far do you think that's shaped the way you are?" I stare at him, hoping he's not offended. His brow furrows. "I have no way of knowing." he murmurs.

"How old were you when you were adopted?"

"That's a matter of public record, Miss Steele." His tone is stern. "My apologies, Sir." I reply sharply. "I am not as prepared as I'd like to be for this interview, so forgive me." I let the sarcasm sit there and continue.

"You've had to sacrifice a family life for your work." I say, my tone empty. I want this stupid affair to be over and done with.

"That's not a question." He's terse.

"Sorry." I nearly hiss. "_Have you_ had to sacrifice a family life for your work?"

"I have a family. I have a brother and a sister and two loving parents. I'm not interested in extending my family beyond that."

I look at the next question, and I gasp. "Damn you, Katherine." I mutter to myself.

"What was that?" Grey asks.

"Nothing, Mr. Grey." I say, loud enough for him to hear me. "Just reminding myself to have a chat with Miss Kavanagh about her curiosity." "Is there a problem with curiosity?" he asks, cocking his head to the side. "When it goes to far, yes. And hers has certainly gone to far." I answer.

I flip through the questions, searching for the next appropriate question. "A moment please, Mr. Grey." I murmur.

"Do you have a problem, Miss Steele?" I sigh, looking down at my lap. "If you must know, Mr. Grey, I have a problem with this entire interview, but it is not your problem, so I will not bother you with it." He raises his eyebrows, silently questioning me.

There's a knock at the door, and Blonde Number 3 enters.

"Mr. Grey, forgive me for interrupting, but your next meeting is in two minutes."

"We're not finished here, Andrea. Please cancel my next meeting."

Andrea hesitates, gaping at him. She's appears lost. He turns his head slowly and meets her gaze.

"Very well, Mr. Grey," she mutters, then exits. He frowns, and turns his attention back to me.

"Where were we, Miss Steele?"

"Don't let me keep you from anything."

"No, I want to know about you. I think that's only fair." His gray eyes are alight with curiosity. I narrow my eyes at him, but sit back silently. He places his elbows on the arms of the chair and steeples his fingers in front of his mouth.

"There's not much to know," I say blankly.

"What are your plans after you graduate?"

I shrug. Come to Seattle with Kate, find a place, find a job. I haven't really thought beyond my finals.

"I have yet to cement any plans, Mr. Grey. I am currently focusing on getting through my final exams." _Which I should be studying for now rather than sitting in your cold, sterile office._

"We run an excellent internship program here," he says quietly. I raise my eyebrows ever so slightly.

"I'll bear that in mind," I deadpan. "Though I'm not sure I'd fit in here."

"Why do you say that?" He cocks his head to one side, intrigued, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

"It's obvious, isn't it?" I answer his question with a question.

"Not to me," he murmurs. His gaze is intense, all humor gone. That mysterious wickedness, sending more shivers up and down my spine. _That's it. I'm done._ I lean forward to retrieve the recorder.

"Would you like me to show you around?" he asks.

"I'm certain you're far too busy, Mr. Grey, and I do have a long drive."

"You're driving back to WSU in Vancouver?" He sounds surprised, anxious even. He glances out of the window. It's begun to rain. "Well, you'd better drive carefully." His toneis stern, authoritative. "Did you get everything you need?" he adds.

"Yes, Mr. Grey." I reply, a bit exasperated. I pack the recorder into my bag.

"Thank you for the interview, Mr. Grey."

"The pleasure's been all mine," he says, polite as ever.

As I rise, he stands and holds out his hand.

"Until we meet again, Miss Steele." And it sounds like a challenge, or a threat, I'm not sure which. I frown, but shake his hand.

"Mr. Grey." I nod at him. Moving with athletic grace to the door, he opens it wide.

I walk into the foyer, surprised when he follows me out. Andrea and Olivia both look up, equally surprised.

"Did you have a coat?" Grey asks.

"Yes." Olivia leaps up and retrieves my coat, which Grey takes from her before she can hand it to me. He holds it up as if he expects me let him help me put my coat on. _I do not want his hands or anyone's hands on me._ I just take it from his hands and slip it on myself.

Grey escorts me to the elevator and presses the button, summoning the elevator. The doors open, and I hurry in desperate to escape. I really need to get out of here. When I turn to look at him, he's leaning against the doorway beside the elevator with one hand on the wall. His burning gray eyes gaze at me.

"Anastasia," he says as a farewell.

"Christian,"


	2. Chapter 2

**Welcome to chapter 2! Reviews are wonderful, as are my readers! :-)**

* * *

My heart is pounding, and I'm starting to feel like I can't breathe.

The elevator arrives on the first floor, and I scramble out as soon as the doors slide open. I race for the wide glass doors, and I'm free in the bracing, cleansing, damp air of Seattle. Raising my face, I welcome the cool refreshing rain. I close my eyes and take a deep, purifying breath, soothing my mind.

_No panic attack no panic attack no panic attack it's okay I'm out I'm fine no one touched me I'm fine_

I take a few more breaths, then walk to the car.

As I leave the city limits, I reflect on the interview. I did very well, considering how some of my past introductions to strangers have been. That enigmatic tycoon needs to get off his high horse, in my opinion. He's cold and arrogant. There's a fine line between respectably proud of one's accomplishment's and pure arrogance, and that man has clearly crossed it. Yes, he has done very well for someone his age, but he has no right to look down on others so distastefully.

_It's over. I don't have to see him again. Only for a second at graduation. _I relax, turn up the music, and speed along the interstate.

* * *

"Ana! You're back!" Kate sits in our living area, submerged in books. She's been studying for finals in her pink flannel pajamas covered with little cartoon rabbits, the set she reserves for breakups, illnesses, and general moody depression. She leaps up to me and hugs me tightly. "I was worried; I expected you earlier."

"I thought I made good time considering the interview ran over." I murmur, getting the recorder from my bag.

"Ana, thank you so much for doing this. I owe you, I know. How was it? What was he like?"

"I suppose it went well enough, but it could have gone better. I'm glad I don't ever have to interact with him again. He's very... intense. I wish I had been more prepared." I add, glaring at her.

"Jeez, Ana, I'm sorry. I should have briefed you, but I was in such a panic. Let me have the mini-disc, and I'll start transcribing the interview."

I hand over the recorder and questions, saying, "You look better." "I'm feeling better." she says, smiling.

"I have to run. I can still make my shift at Clayton's." I say as I go back to my bedroom. I change my skirt for jeans and my white flats for black Converse.

"Ana, you'll be exhausted." Kate insists

"I'll be fine. I'll see you later."

I've worked at Clayton's Hardware Store since I started at WSU. It's the largest independent hardware store in the Portland area, and over the four years I've worked here, I've come to know a little bit about most everything we sell. Though I'm not hugely into DIY; I leave all that to my dad. I'm glad I can make my shift as it gives me something to focus on that isn't Christian Grey.

We're busy - it's the start of the summer season, and folks are redecorating their homes. Mrs. Clayton is pleased to see me.

"Ana! I thought you weren't going to make it today."

"My appointment didn't take as long as I thought, so I can do a couple of hours."

"Wonderful."

She sends me to the storeroom to start re-stocking shelves, and I'm soon absorbed in the task.

* * *

When I arrive home later, Katherine is wearing headphones and working on her laptop.

Her nose is still pink, but she's deep into a story, so she's concentrating and typing furiously. I'm thoroughly drained - exhausted by the long drive, the grueling interview, and by being rushed off my feet at Clayton's. I slump on to the couch, thinking about the essay I have to finish and all the studying I haven't done today because I was busy up with that bastard.

"You've got some good stuff here, Ana. Well done. I can't believe you didn't take him up on his offer to show you around. He obviously wanted to spend more time with you." She gives me a quizzical look.

"Kate, I'm sure he just wanted to show me around to show me that he is lord of all he surveyed." I say, sighing.

"Did you take any notes?" she asks.

"No, I didn't."

"That's fine. I can still make a fine article with this. Shame we don't have some original stills. Good-looking son of a bitch, isn't he?"

"I suppose so." I mumble with a careless shrug.

"Oh come on, Ana - even you can't be immune to his looks." She arches a perfect eyebrow at me. "Katherine, I am not interested right now. Sure, he's handsome - good for him. But I'm not going to swoon because his face is merely a pretty cover for his suck-ass personality."

"Come on, Ana - he practically offered you a job. Given that I put this on you at the last minute, you did very well."

"So what did you really think of him?"

"He's very driven, controlling, and arrogant. He intimidates others to get what he wants, which is a ridiculous tactic to achieve one's goals. If he really was a _good _businessman, he would know there are other, better methods to getting what you want."

"Well alrighty then, Miss Opinionated." she mutters. "You asked for my opinion, and I gave it." I reply, heading to the kitchen.

I start gathering the makings of a sandwich.

"Why did you want to know if he was gay?"

"Whenever he's in the society pages, he never has a date."

"Well that is too personal, Kavanagh. If he's gay, he can be gay either in private or publicly - whichever he wants. Though I don't see how anyone of any gender could tolerate being around him." I add.

"Ana, he's not that bad. I think he's taken with you."

_Taken with me?!__ Kate, hon, I think you have a bad fever._

"Would you like a sandwich?" I ask.

"Please."

We talk no more of Christian Grey that evening, much to my relief. Once we've eaten, I sit at the dining table with Kate while she works on her article, and I work on my essay on Tess of the D'Urbervilles. That woman was in the wrong place at the wrong time in the wrong century.

By the time I finish, it's midnight, and Kate has long since gone to bed. I make my way to my room, tired but pleased that I've accomplished so much.

I curl up in my white iron bed, wrapping my quilt around me, close my eyes, and I'm instantly asleep.

That night I dream of dark places, bleak white cold floors, and gray eyes.

* * *

For the rest of the week, I bury myself into my studies and my job at Clayton's. Kate is busy too, compiling her last edition of her student magazine before she has to relinquish it to the new editor while also cramming for her finals. By Wednesday, she's better, and I no longer have to endure the sight of her pink-flannel-with-too-many-rabbits pajamas.

Later that evening, I call Ray - my stepdad and my mother's second husband, the man I consider my father, and the man whose name I bear. It's a brief conversation. Ray is not a talker. But he's still alive, he's still watching soccer on TV, and going bowling and fly-fishing or making furniture when he's not. All seems well with him.

Friday night, Kate and I are debating what to do with our evening - we want some time out from our studies, from our work, and from student newspapers - when the doorbell rings.

Standing on our doorstep is my friend Jose, clutching a bottle of champagne.

"Jose! Great to see you! Come in."

Jose is the first person I met when I arrived at WSU, looking as lost and lonely as I did.

We recognized a kindred spirit in each of us that day, and we've been friends ever since.

Not only do we share a sense of humor, but we discovered that both Ray and Jose Senior were in the same army unit together. As a result, our fathers have become firm friends too.

Jose is studying engineering and is the first in his family to make it to college. He's pretty bright, but his real passion is photography; he has a great eye for a good picture.

"I have news." He grins, his dark eyes twinkling.

"Don't tell me - you've managed not to get kicked out for another week," I tease, and he scowls playfully at me.

"The Portland Place Gallery is going to show my photos next month."

"That's amazing - congratulations!" Delighted for him, I beam as Kate hugs him.

"Way to go, Jose! I should put this in the paper. Nothing like last minute editorial changes on a Friday evening." She grins.

"Let's celebrate.I want you to come to the opening." Jose looks intently at me.

"Both of you, of course," he adds, glancing nervously at Kate.

Jose and I are good friends, but I know deep down inside, he'd like to be more. He's cute and funny, but he's just not for me. Katherine often teases me that I'm missing the need-a-boyfriend gene, but the truth is - I just haven't met anyone who I'm attracted to.

Sometimes I wonder if perhaps I've spent too long in the company of my literary romantic heroes, and consequently my ideals and expectations are way too high.

But in reality, I know why it's hard for me to be attracted to others.

I watch Jose open the bottle of champagne. The cork makes its loud pop, and Jose looks up and smiles.

* * *

Saturday at the store is a nightmare. We are besieged by people wanting to spruce up their homes. Mr. and Mrs. Clayton, John and Patrick - the two other part-timers - and I are all rushed.

But there's a lull around lunchtime, and Mrs. Clayton asks me to check on some orders while I'm sitting behind the counter. I'm fairly engrossed in the task, checking catalogue numbers against the items we need and the items we've ordered, eyes flicking from the order book to the computer screen and back as I check the entries match.

A presence o n ther other side of the counter sends tingles up my spine. I straighten and look up into intense gray eyes.

"Miss Steele. What a lovely surprise." His gaze is unwavering.

_What the hell is he doing here?! The bastard lives in Seattle, why would he come to damn Portland?!_

"Mr. Grey," I greet, and my voice sounds bored.

"I was in the area," he says by way of explanation. _Cryptic much?_ "I need to stock up on a few things. It's a pleasure to see you again, Miss Steele." His voice is warm and husky .

"My name is Ana," I state. "What can I help you with, Mr. Grey?"

A brief flash of confusion sparkles in his eyes, then he smiles. "There are a few items I need. To start with, I'd like some cable ties," he murmurs, his gray eyes cool.

"We stock various lengths. Shall I show you?" I offer, my tone professional but still uninterested.

A slight frown mars Grey's rather lovely brow.

"Please. Lead the way, Miss Steele," he says.

"They're in with the electrical goods, aisle eight." I say as I move away from the barrier that is my counter.

"After you," he murmurs, gesturing with hand. I head down one of the aisles to the electrical section. Why is he in Portland?

_Why is he here at Clayton's?_ From the farthest reaches of my mind comes the thought: _he's here to see you._ No way! I dismiss it immediately. The idea is absurd, and I kick it out of my head violently.

"Are you in Portland on business?" I ask as a means of conversation.

"I was visiting the WSU farming division. It's based at Vancouver. I'm currently funding some research there in crop rotation and soil science." he says professionally.

He gazes at the selection of cable ties we stock. I cannot picture him as someone who enjoys DIY projects, but what do I know about him? His fingers trail across the various packages displayed. He bends and selects a packet. "These will do," he says with a smirk.

"Is there anything else?"

"I'd like some masking tape."

"Are you redecorating?" _Surely he hires laborers or has staff to help him decorate?_

"No, not redecorating," he says quickly then smirks again.

"This way," I mutter. "Masking tape is in the decorating aisle."

I glance behind me as he follows.

"Have you worked here long?" His voice is low, and he's gazing at me, gray eyes concentrating hard.

"Four years," I say as we reach our goal. To distract myself, I reach down and select the two widths of masking tape that we stock.

"I'll take that one," Grey says softly pointing to the wider tape, which I pass to him.

"Anything else?" _Get the hell out of the store, creep._

"Some rope, I think." His voice husky.

"This way."

"What sort of rope would you like? We have synthetic and natural filament rope, twine, cable cord... " I halt at his expression, his eyes darkening in that frightening way.

"I'll take five yards of the natural filament rope please."

Quickly,I measure out five yards against the fixed ruler, aware that his hot gray gaze is on me. Taking my Stanley knife from the back pocket of my jeans, I cut it then coil it neatly before tying it in a slipknot.

"Were you a Girl Scout?" he asks, lips curled in amusement.

"Organized group activities aren't really my thing, Mr. Grey."

He arches a brow. "What is your thing, Anastasia?" he asks, his voice soft.

"Books," I say with no emotion.

"What kind of books?" He cocks his head to one side. Why is he so interested?

"Classics. British literature, mainly. Some of the new stuff isn't bad, though."

He rubs his chin with his index finger and thumb as he contemplates my answer, but I refuse to give him any more of my time.

"Anything else you need?"

"I don't know. What else would you recommend?"

_I don't even know what you're doing, dipshidiot!_

"Well, it depends on the task at hand, but generally people are concerned about keeping what they're not redecorating clean and untouched. For example, coveralls or tarps for the floor."

He nods, gray eyes alive with wickedness.

"Coveralls?" he questions, tilting his head. "You wouldn't want to ruin your clothing." I reply.

"I could always take them off." He smirks.

I scowl and frown. _Sexual innuendo in the workplace is a no-no, Mr. Grey._

"I'll take some coveralls. Heaven forbid I should ruin any clothing," he says dryly.

I go the opposite end of the aisle and take a set of coveralls. "Do you need anything else?" I ask as I hand him the blue folded cloth.

He ignores my question. "How's the article coming along?"

"I'm not writing it; Katherine Kavanagh, my roommate, is. She's very happy with it. She's the editor of the magazine, and she was devastated that she couldn't do the interview in person. Her only concern is that she doesn't have any original photographs of you."

Grey raises an eyebrow.

"What sort of photographs does she want?" "I'm not entirely sure." I say with a shrug.

"Well, I am around. Tomorrow, perhaps... " he trails off.

"You'd be willing to attend a photo shoot?" I question. _This selfish weirdo would do that?_ Kate will be in seventh heaven if this happens.

"Kate will be delighted - if we can find a photographer." I'm so pleased, I smile at him. His lips part, like he's taking a sharp intake of breath, and he blinks. For a fraction of a second, he looks lost somehow .

"Let me know about tomorrow." Reaching into his back pocket, he pulls out his wallet. "My card has my cell number on it." he says, passing the stiff recantangle to me. "You'll need to call before ten in the morning."

"Very well."

"ANA!"

Paul, Mr. Clayton's youngest brother, has appeared at the other end of the aisle. I'd heard he was home from Princeton, but I wasn't expecting to see him today.

"Excuse me for a moment, Mr. Grey." Grey frowns as I turn away from him.

"Ana, hi, it's so good to see you!" he gushes.

"Hello Paul, how are you? Homefor your brother's birthday?"

"Yep. You're looking well, Ana, really well." He grins as he examines me. I shuffle from foot to foot, embarrassed. It's good to see Paul, but he's always been over-familiar.

When I glance up at Christian Grey, he's watching us like a hawk, his gray eyes hooded and speculative, his mouth a hard, impassive line. He's changed from the weirdly attentive customer to someone else - someone cold and distant.

"Paul, I'm with a customer. Someone you should meet," I lead Paul over to meet him, and they weigh each other up. The atmosphere is suddenly arctic.

"Paul, this is Christian Grey. Mr. Grey, this is Paul Clayton. His brother owns the place."

"Mr. Clayton." Christian holds his hand out, his look unreadable.

"Mr. Grey," Paul returns his handshake. "Wait up - not the Christian Grey? Of Grey Enterprises Holdings?" Paul goes from surly to awestruck in less than a nanosecond. Grey gives him a polite smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

"Wow - is there anything I can get you?"

"Anastasia has it covered, Mr. Clayton. She's been very attentive." His expression is impassive.

"Cool," Paul responds. "Catch you later, Ana."

"Sure, Paul." I watch him disappear toward the stock room. "Anything else, Mr. Grey?"

"Just these items." His tone is clipped and cool. _Whatever._ I turn and head for the checkout counter.

I ring up the rope, coveralls, masking tape, and cable ties.

"That will be forty-three dollars." I look up at Grey, and he's watching me closely, his gray eyes intense and smoky. It's unnerving.

"Would you like a bag?" I ask as I take his credit card.

"Please, Anastasia."

Hurriedly, I place his purchases in a plastic carrier.

"You'll call me if you want me to do the photo shoot?" I nod and hand back his credit card.

"Good. Until tomorrow perhaps." He turns to leave, then pauses. "Oh - and Anastasia, I'm glad Miss Kavanagh couldn't do the interview." He smiles, then strides with renewed purpose out of the store, slinging the plastic bag over his shoulder.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you for continuing! Warning: There is some drama in the end of this chapter.  
**

* * *

Kate is ecstatic.

"But what was he doing at Clayton's?" she asks as I stand in the very back of the stock room. "He was in the area."

"I think that is one huge coincidence, Ana. You don't think he was there to see you?" she speculates. "He was visiting the farming division of WSU. He's funding some research," I mutter. "Oh yes. He's given the department a $2.5 million grant."

Wow.

"How do you know this?" "Ana, I'm a journalist, and I've written a profile on the guy. It's my job to know this." "Okay, Carla Bernstein, keep your hair on. So, do you want these photos?" "Of course I do. The question is, who's going to do them and where." "We could ask him where. He says he's staying in the area." "You can contact him?" she says, her eyes wide.

"I have his cell phone number." I mumble with a shrug.

Kate gasps.

"The richest, most elusive, most enigmatic bachelor in Washington State, just gave you his cell phone number." "...yes."

"Ana! He likes you. No doubt about it." Her tone is emphatic.

"Kate, he's just trying to be nice." I dismiss.

"I don't know who we'll get to do the shoot." Kate muses. "Levi, our regular photographer, can't. He's home in Idaho Falls for the weekend. He'll be pissed that he blew an opportunity to photo one of America's leading entrepreneurs."

"What about Jose?" I suggest. "Great idea! You ask him - he'll do anything for you. Then call Grey and find out where he wants us." "I think you should call him." I say. "Who, Jose?" Kate scoffs. "No, Grey." I say, waving my hands in the air. "Ana, you're the one with the relationship."

"Relationship?" I squeak at her, my voice rising several octaves. "I barely know the guy!" I splutter. "At least you've met him," she says bitterly. "And it looks like he wants to know you better. Ana, just call him," she snaps and hangs up. She is so bossy sometimes. I frown at my cell phone.

I'm just leaving a message for Jose when Paul enters the stock room looking for sand-paper.

"We're kind of busy out there, Ana," he says without acrimony. "Yeah, um, sorry," I mutter, turning to leave.

"So, how come you know Christian Grey?" Paul's voice is unconvincingly nonchalant. _Paul, never be an actor._ "I had to interview him for our student newspaper. Kate wasn't well." I shrug.

"Christian Grey in Clayton's. Go figure," Paul snorts, amazed. He shakes his head as if to clear it.

"Anyway, want to grab a drink or something this evening?" "Don't you have a family dinner or something for your brother?" I mumble. "That's tomorrow." he states. "I need to study tonight, Paul. I have my finals next week." "Ana, one of these days, you'll say yes," he smiles as I escape out to the store floor.

* * *

"But I do places, Ana, not people," Jose groans.

"Jose, please?" Clutching my cell, I pace the living area of our apartment, staring out of the window at the fading evening light.

"Give me that phone." Kate grabs the handset from me, tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder.

"Listen here, Jose Rodriquez, if you want our newspaper to cover the opening of your show, you'll do this shoot for us tomorrow, capiche?" _Damn, does she crack the whip. _"Good. Ana will call back with the location and the call time. We'll see you tomorrow." She snaps my cell phone shut.

"Sorted. All we need to do now is decide where and when. Call him." She holds the phone out to me. My stomach twists. "Call Grey, now!"

I scowl at her and reach into my back pocket for his business card. I take a breath that comes out as a sigh and dial the number.

He answers on the second ring. His tone is clipped and cold.

"Grey."

"Mr. Grey. It's Anastasia Steele." There's a brief pause.

"Miss Steele. How nice to hear from you." His voice has changed. He's surprised. "We'd like to go ahead with the photo-shoot for the article. Tomorrow, if that's okay. Where would be convenient for you?" "I'm staying at the Heathman in Portland. Shall we say, nine thirty tomorrow morning?" "That's good. Thank you, Mr. Grey."

"I look forward to it, Miss Steele." I visualize the wicked gleam in his gray eyes. I hang up.

"Heathman, that figures," mutters Kate. "I'll give the manager a call and negotiate a space for the shoot."

"I'll make supper. Then I need to study." I cannot hide my irritation with her as I open one of cupboards to make supper.

I am restless that night, tossing and turning. Dreaming of dark, unexplored places, a sense of fear causing me to wake twice in the night, my heart pounding. _I'm__ fine. This is not a big deal. I'm fine. _I punch my pillow and try to settle down.

* * *

The Heathman is nestled in the downtown heart of Portland. Its impressive brown stone edifice was completed just in time for the crash of the late 1920s. Jose, Travis, and I are traveling in my Beetle, and Kate is in her CLK, since we can't all fit in my car. Travis is Jose's friend and helper, here to assist with the lighting.

Kate has managed to acquire the use of a room at the Heathman free of charge for the morning in exchange for a credit in the article. When she explains at reception that we're here to photograph Christian Grey CEO, we are instantly upgraded to a suite. Just a regular-sized suite, however, as apparently Mr. Grey is already occupying the largest one in the building. _Self-centered bastard._

An over-keen marketing executive shows us up to the suite - he's terribly young and very nervous for some reason. I suspect it's Kate's beauty and commanding manner that disarms him, because he's putty in her hands. The rooms are elegant, understated, and opulently furnished.

It's nine. We have half an hour to set up. Kate is in full flow.

"Jose, I think we'll shoot against that wall, do you agree?" She doesn't wait for his reply. "Travis, clear the chairs. Ana, could you ask housekeeping to bring up some refreshments, and let Grey know where we are." I roll my eyes, but do as I'm told.

Half an hour later, Christian Grey walks into our suite. He's wearing a white shirt, open at the collar, and grey flannel pants that hang from his hips. His unruly hair is still damp from a shower. Grey is followed into the suite by a man in his mid-thirties, all buzz-cut and stubble in a sharp dark suit and tie who stands silently in the corner. His hazel eyes watch us impassively.

"Miss Steele, we meet again." Grey extends his hand, and I shake it.

"Mr. Grey, this is Katherine Kavanagh," I say, waving a hand toward Kate, who comes forward, looking him squarely in the eye.

"The tenacious Miss Kavanagh. How do you do?" He gives her a small smile, looking genuinely amused. "I trust you're feeling better; Anastasia said you were unwell last week."

"I'm fine, thank you, Mr. Grey." She shakes his hand firmly without batting an eyelid. "Thank you for taking the time to do this." She gives him a polite, professional smile. "It's a pleasure," he answers, turning his gray gaze on me.

"This is Jose Rodriguez, our photographer," I say, gesturing to Jose, who smiles with affection back at me. His eyes cool when he looks from me to Grey. "Mr. Grey," he nods. "Mr. Rodriguez," Grey's expression changes too as he appraises Jose.

"Where would you like me?" Grey asks him. His tone sounds vaguely threatening. But Katherine is not about to let Jose run the show. "Mr. Grey - if you could sit here, please. Be careful of the lighting cables. And then we'll do a few standing, too." She directs him to a chair set up against the wall.

Travis switches on the lights, momentarily blinding Grey, and mutters an apology.

Then Travis and I stand back and watch as Jose proceeds to snap away. He takes several photographs hand-held, asking Grey to turn this way, then that, to move his arm, then put it down again. Moving to the tripod, Jose takes several more, while Grey sits and poses, patiently and naturally, for about twenty minutes.

"Enough sitting." Katherine wades in again. "Standing, Mr. Grey?" she asks. He stands, and Travis scurries in to remove the chair. The shutter on Jose's Nikon starts clicking again.

"I think we have enough," Jose announces five minutes later.

"Great," says Kate. "Thank you again, Mr. Grey." She shakes his hand, as does Jose.

"I look forward to reading the article, Miss Kavanagh," murmurs Grey, and turns to me, standing by the door. "Will you walk with me, Miss Steele?" he asks.

I glance anxiously at Kate, who shrugs at me. I notice Jose scowling behind her. "I suppose." I murmur.

"Good day to you all," says Grey as he opens the door, standing aside to allow me out first.

_What does he want?_ I pause in the hotel corridor.

Grey emerges from the room followed by Mr. Buzz-Cut. "I'll call you, Taylor," he murmurs to Buzz-Cut. Taylor wanders back down the corridor, and Grey turns his burning gray gaze to me.

"I wondered if you would join me for coffee this morning."

My heart slams against my ribcage. _Do I really want to leave with this guy?_

"I have to drive everyone home," I say apologetically, crossing my arms.

"TAYLOR," he calls, making me jump. Taylor, who had been retreating down the corridor, turns and heads back toward us.

"Are they based at the university?" Grey asks, his voice soft and inquiring. I nod, scowling slightly. "Taylor can take them. He's my driver. We have a large 4x4 here, so he'll be able to take the equipment too."

"Mr. Grey?" Taylor asks when he reaches us, giving nothing away. "Please, can you drive the photographer, his assistant, and Miss Kavanagh back home?" "Certainly, sir," Taylor replies.

"There. Now can you join me for coffee?" Grey smiles as if it's a done deal.

I frown at him.

"Mr. Grey, Taylor doesn't have to drive them home." I flash a brief look at Taylor, who remains stoically impassive. Sighing, "I'll swap vehicles with Kate, if you give me a moment."

Grey smiles dazzlingly, and I go around him to enter the room, finding Katherine in deep discussion with Jose.

"Ana, I think he definitely likes you," she says with no preamble whatsoever. Jose glares at me with disapproval. "But I don't trust him," she adds. I raise my hand up in the hope that she'll stop talking. By some miracle, she does.

"Kate, if you take the Beetle, can I take your car?" "Why?" "Grey has asked me to go for coffee with him."

Her mouth pops open. She grabs me by my arm and drags me into the bedroom that's off the living area of the suite.

"Ana, there's something about him." Her tone is full of warning. "He's gorgeous, I agree, but I think he's dangerous. Especially to someone like you."

"Kate, it's just coffee. I'm starting my exams this week, and I need to study, so I won't be long. I don't trust him either."

She purses her lips as if considering my request. Finally, she fishes her car keys out of her pocket and hands them to me. I hand her mine.

"I'll see you later. Don't be long, or I'll send out search and rescue." "Thanks."

I emerge from the suite to find Christian Grey waiting, leaning up against the wall, looking like a male model in a pose for some glossy high-end magazine.

"Okay, let's do coffee," I murmur. He grins. "After you, Miss Steele." He stands up straight, holding his hand out for me to go first.

We walk together down the wide hotel corridor to the elevators. What are we going to talk about?

His soft, warm voice startles me. "How long have you known Katherine Kavanagh?"

Oh, an easy questions for starters.

"Since our freshman year. She's a good friend." "Hmm," he replies, non-committal. What is he thinking?

At the elevators, he presses the call button, and the bell rings almost immediately. The doors slide open revealing a young couple in a passionate clinch inside. Surprised and embarrassed, they jump apart, staring guiltily in every direction but ours. Grey and I step into the elevator.

I cross my arms and stare with disinterest at the doors. The other couple says nothing, and we ridedown to the first floor in silence.

The doors open and and I drop my arms. Much to my surprise, Grey takes my hand, clasping it with his long, cool fingers. As he leads me out of the elevator, we can hear the suppressed giggles of the couple erupting behind us. Grey grins.

"What is it about elevators?" he mutters.

We cross the expansive, bustling lobby of the hotel toward the entrance but Grey avoids the revolving door.

Outside, it's a mild May Sunday. The sun is shining and the traffic is light. Grey turns left and strolls to the corner, where we stop waiting for the lights of the pedestrian crossing to change. He's still holding my hand. No one has ever held my hand. The green man appears, and we're off again.

We walk four blocks before we reach the Portland Coffee House, where Grey releases me to hold the door open so I can step inside.

"Why don't you choose a table, while I get the drinks. What would you like?" he asks, polite as ever.

"Black coffee."

"Anything to eat?"

"No, thank you." I shake my head, and he heads to the counter.

I find a small, round, birch-veneer table. I watch him standing in line, idly running his fingers through his unruly hair. He's even more handsome when he's not being overly stuffy.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Grey is back, startling me.

I just shake my head. He's carrying a tray, which he sets down on the table. He hands me a steaming mug, which I take with a murmured thanks. He has a coffee which bears a wonderful leaf pattern imprinted in the milk and a blueberry muffin. Putting the tray aside, he sits opposite me.

"Your thoughts?" he prompts me.

"This is a nice shop. The weather is pleasant." I say, my voice sounding vaguely like a robot's.

"Indeed." Grey replies. "Is he your boyfriend?"

_Whoa, what?_

"Who?" I ask, incredulous.

"The photographer. Jose Rodriguez."

I give a small laugh and shake my head._ What gave him that impression?_

"No. Jose's a friend of mine, that's all. Why did you think he was my boyfriend?"

"The way you smiled at him, and he at you." His gray gaze holds mine. He's so unnerving.

"He's more like family," I say, shrugging.

Grey nods slightly, seemingly satisfied with my response, and glances down at his blueberry muffin.

"Do you want some?" he offers

"No thanks." I scrunch my nose.

"And the boy I met yesterday, at the store. He's not your boyfriend?"

Exasperated, "No. Paul's just a friend. I told you yesterday." This is stupid. "Why do you ask?" "You seem nervous around men." "That's a bit personal." I comment, crossing my arms. "It's a just question." "Since you're so keen on learning useless facts about me, you would probably like to know that I'm not a people person." I say.

Tilting his head, he whispers, "You're a mystery, Miss Steele." _Look who's talking!_

"There's nothing mysterious about me." "I think you're very self-contained," he murmurs.

"I'm sure you understand the necessity of privacy with certain matters, don't you, Mr. Grey?" He grins. "Do you always make such personal observations?" "I hadn't realized I was. Have I offended you?" He sounds surprised. "Not yet." His mouth quirks as something flashes in his eyes.

"You're very high-handed,"

He raises his eyebrows and, if I'm not mistaken, he flushes slightly. "I'm used to getting my own way, Anastasia," he says. "In all things."

"I don't doubt it." I mutter.

"Why haven't you asked me to call you by your first name?" I'm surprised by my question.

"The only people who use my given name are my family and a few close friends. That's the way I like it."

I take a sip of my coffee, and Grey eats a small piece of his muffin.

"Are you an only child?" he asks.

Whoa... he keeps changing direction.

"Yes." I answer shortly.

"Tell me about your parents."

_Why does he want to know this?_

"My mother lives in Georgia. My stepdad lives in Montesano." "Your father?" "Dead since I was a baby." "I'm sorry," he mutters and a troubled look crosses his face. "I don't remember him."

"And your mother remarried?" I snort. "You could say that." I mutter. _Could you not ask about my family?_

He frowns at me. "You're not giving much away, are you?" he says dryly, rubbing his chin as if in deep thought. "Neither are you."

"You've interviewed me once already." He smirks at me.

"Do you get along with your stepfather?"

"I grew up with him, and I love him. He's the only father I know."

"And what's he like?"

"Ray is... taciturn."

"That's it?" Grey asks, surprised.

I shrug. _What does this man expect? My life story? Hell no!_

"Taciturn like his stepdaughter," Grey prompts.

I refrain from rolling my eyes at him.

"He likes soccer - European soccer especially - and bowling, and fly-fishing, and making furniture. He's a carpenter. Ex-army." I sigh.

"You lived with him?" "Yes. My mom met Husband Number Three when I was fifteen. I stayed with Ray."

He frowns as if he doesn't understand. "You didn't want to live with your mom?" he asks. _This really is none of his business. _"Husband Number Three and I did not get along." I reply sharply.

"Tell me about your parents," I prompt.

He shrugs. "My dad's a lawyer, my mom is a pediatrician. They live in Seattle." Oh... he's had an affluent upbringing. And I wonder about a successful couple who adopt three kids,and one of them turns into a beautiful man who takes on the business world and conquers it single-handedly.

"What do your siblings do?" "Elliot's in construction, and my little sister is in Paris, studying cookery under some renowned French chef." His eyes cloud with irritation. He doesn't want to talk about his family or himself. _Well tough tits, buddy. You interrogate me, I interrogate you._

"I hear Paris is lovely," I murmur. "It's beautiful. Have you been?" he asks, his irritation forgotten. "I've never left mainland USA." "Would you like to go?" "To Paris?" This has thrown me. "Sure." I concede. "But it's England that I'd really like to visit."

He cocks his head to one side, running his index finger across his lower lip... oh my.

"Because?" "It's the home of Shakespeare, Austen, the Bronte sisters, Thomas Hardy. I'd like to see the places that inspired those people to write such wonderful books."

All this talk of literary greats reminds me that I should be studying. I glance at my watch.

"I'd better go. I have to study." I say, taking a large drink of my coffee. "For your exams?" "Yes. They start Tuesday." "Where's Miss Kavanagh's car?" he asks. "In the hotel parking lot." "I'll walk you back." he says, his tone insisting there be not arguments. "Thank you for the coffee, Mr. Grey."

He smiles.

"You're welcome, Anastasia. It's my pleasure. Come," he commands, and holds his hand out to me. I take it and follow him out of the coffee shop.

We stroll back to the hotel in silence. He looks his usual calm, collected self.

"Do you always wear jeans?" he asks out of the blue. "Mostly." I reply, a little bemused.

He nods. We're back at the intersection, across the road from the hotel. My mind is reeling. What an odd question.

The signal for pedestrians to cross turns, and I walk forward. Then it happens too quickly - I trip, falling into the street, Grey cries out and tugs my hand that he's holding so hard that I fall back against him just as a cyclist whips past, narrowly missing me.

He's holding me tightly against his chest. "Are you okay?" he whispers. He has one arm around me, clasping me to him, while the fingers of his other hand softly trace my face, gently probing, examining me. His thumb brushes my lower lip, and I hear his breath hitch. He's staring into my eyes, and I hold his anxious, burning gaze for a moment, or maybe it's forever.

_He's touching me my back he's touching my back please don't touch my back stop please oh God make it stop it burns it burns so bad stop STOP_

"Let me go!" I scream, violently shoving him away. I wrap my arms around myself and bend over, feeling like I'm going to vomit. "Ana, what's wrong?" he gasps. I feel his fingertips brush my back, and I whimper, then yell, "Don't touch me!" I straighten and back away from him. _Run get away now run_

I turn away from him and sprint away as fast as I can.


	4. Chapter 4

**Helloooo! Let us get on with the** **drama! Also: POV change later in this chappie. :-)  
**

* * *

My feet pound the pavement as I hurry toward the hotel parking garage.

"ANASTASIA!" a man's voice behind me shouts.

I run faster, and finally get to the car. My fingers are trembling as I fish the key out of pocket and jam it into the lock. I hear rapid footfalls behind me as I jump into the car and start it. "ANA!" the voice shouts again. I fasten my seat belt and shift into drive.

"Ana!" This time the voice comes with someone knocking on the car window. I jump, and look up into blazing gray eyes. Taking a deep breath, I roll down the window. "Go away." I mutter weakly, trying to control my breathing. "Anastasia, what is wrong? Tell me now." I glare at him, narrowing my eyes. "Go to hell, Grey." I growl. The tires squeal as I zip out of garage and onto the street.

* * *

Kate is sitting at the dining table with her laptop when I arrive. Her welcoming smile fades when she sees me.

"Ana, what's wrong?"

Not the Katherine Kavanagh Inquisition. I shake my head at her.

"What did that bastard do to you?" she growls.

"Nothing, Kate." I mutter. I've never told her or anyone else about my problems, and I don't plan to. She stands, her green eyes brimming with concern.

_Say something just to get her to back off._

"I was nearly knocked over by a cyclist." It's the best that I can do, but it distracts her momentarily.

"Are you okay? Were you hurt?" She grips my upper arms, holds me at arm's length, and does a quick visual check-up.

"No. Christian saved me. But I was quite shaken."

"I'm not surprised. How was coffee?" "It was fine, nothing to report really. I don't know why he asked me." "He likes you Ana." She drops her arms.

"Not anymore. I won't be seeing him again." "Oh?"

Damn it. She's intrigued. I head into the kitchen.

"Stuff happened, I was upset, and I ran off. End of story, Kate. Now please, I need to study." She frowns.

"Do you want to see the article? It's finished. Jose took some great pictures."

"Sure," I magically create a smile on to my face and stroll over to the laptop. And there he is, staring at me in black and white.

I quickly read the article. "Very good Kate," I manage. "I'm going to study." I am not going to think about him again for now, I vow to myself, and opening my revision notes, I start to read.

That night, I dream of running fast and hard... whether it's to something or away from something, I don't know.

* * *

I put my pen down. Finished. My final exam is over. I feel a grin spread over my face. It's probably the first time all week that I've smiled. It's Friday, and we shall be celebrating tonight. I glance across the hall at Kate, and she's still scribbling furiously, five minutes to the end. I shall never have to sit in rows of anxious, isolated students again. Kate stops writing and puts her pen down. She glances across at me, and I catch her Cheshire cat smile too.

We head back to our apartment together in her Mercedes, refusing to discuss our final paper. Kate is more concerned about what she's going to wear to the bar this evening. I am busily fishing around in my purse for my keys.

"Ana, there's a package for you." Kate is standing on the steps up to the front door holding a brown paper parcel. Odd.

Kate gives me the parcel and takes my keys to open the front door. It's addressed to Miss Anastasia Steele. There's no sender's address or name.

"Open it!" Kate is excited as she heads into the kitchen for our 'Exams are finished hurrah Champagne'.

I open the parcel, and inside I find a half leather box containing three seemingly identical old cloth-covered books in mint condition and a plain white card. Written on one side, in black ink in neat cursive handwriting, is a quote from Tess. I am stunned I've just spent three hours writing about the novels of Thomas Hardy in my final examination. I inspect the books closely, three volumes of Tess of the D'Urbervilles. I open the front cover. Written in an old typeface on the front plate is:

'London: Jack R. Osgood, McIlvaine and Co., 1891.'

Holy shit - they are first editions. They must be worth a fortune, and I know immediately who's sent them. Kate is at my shoulder gazing at the books. She picks up the card.

"First Editions," I whisper.

"No." Kate's eyes are wide with disbelief. "Grey?"

I nod.

"Can't think of anyone else."

"What does this card mean?"

"I have no idea. I think it's a warning - honestly he keeps warning me off. I have no idea why. It's not like I'm beating his door down." I frown.

"I know you don't want to talk about him, Ana, but he's seriously into you. Warnings or no."

I have not let myself dwell on Christian Grey for the past week. Why has he sent me this? He told me that I wasn't for him.

"I've found one Tess first edition for sale in New York at $14,000. But yours looks in much better condition. They must have cost more." Kate is consulting her good friend Google.

"This quote - Tess says it to her mother after Alec D'Urberville has had his wicked way with her."

"I know," muses Kate. "What is he trying to say?" "I don't know, and I don't care. I can't accept these from him. I'll send them back with an equally baffling quote from some obscure part of the book."

"The bit where Angel Clare says fuck off?" Kate asks with a completely straight face. "Yes, that bit."

I repack the books and leave them on the dining table. Kate hands me a glass of champagne.

"To the end of exams and our new life in Seattle," she grins. "To the end of exams, our new life in Seattle, and excellent results." We clink glasses and drink.

* * *

The bar is loud and hectic, full of soon to be graduates out to get trashed. Jose joins us. He won't graduate for another year, but he's in the mood to party and gets us into the spirit of our new-found freedom by buying a pitcher of margaritas for us all. I only have one drink, then switch to water.

I am actually happy. Finals have been completed, and now all that's left is to graduate. I sit back and relax for the first time in a long time, watching my friends get shitfaced and dance.

"So what now Ana?" Jose shouts at me over the noise.

"Kate and I are moving to Seattle. Kate's parents have bought a condo there for her."

"Dios mio, how the other half live. But you'll be back for my show."

"Of course, Jose, I wouldn't miss it for the world." I smile, and he puts his arm around my waist and pulls me close. I stop breathing as he whispers in my ear, "It means a lot to me that you'll be there Ana,"

He releases me, a dark cloud in his eyes. "Another margarita?" he offers.

"Jose Luis Rodriguez - are you trying to get me drunk?"

"Maybe." he says, giggling. I roll my eyes. "No thanks." I yell.

"More drink, Ana!" Kate bellows.

Kate has the constitution of an ox. She's got her arm draped over Levi, one of our fellow English students and her usual photographer on her student newspaper. He's given up taking photos of the drunkenness that surrounds him. He only has eyes for Kate. She's all tiny camisole, tight jeans, and high heels, hair piled high with tendrils hanging down softly around her face, her usual stunning self.

Taking my coat, I rise from my chair and step outside into the cool, refreshing night air. I take a deep breath; damn, it's hard to breath in that bar.

I slip my coat on to protect me from the chill and start strolling down the sidewalk. It's pleasant out here, being in my own company and peace.

Until someone calls out my name.

I turn around, looking back at the bar, and see a tall figure. "Ana!" a slurred voice tinted with a Hispanic accented yells. I walk back and find Jose stating in the parking lot. "What're you doin?" he mumbles. "Just getting some air." I say. "C'me here," He reaches out, his arms snaking around me. "Jose, stop." I say, trying to push his hands away. "Let me go!" I yell, shoving at his chest. I'm going to hyperventilate. "Shhh," he whispers, leaning down and brushing his lips on my jaw. "Stop it!" I push at him harder. "Please, Ana," he murmurs, trailing kisses up to my mouth. "No, Jose! Quit!" i struggle in his hold, but he's too big, too strong. _Oh God no make it stop don't do this please stop _

He forces his way into my mouth, and I bite down hard on his tongue. I taste blood as he screeches and jumps back. He starts swearing in Spanish as blood pours from his mouth.

Turning, I hunch over and puke my guts up, retching and gagging until there's noting left in me.

Jose has left when I'm able to lean against the brick wall of the bar and slide down to the ground. I'm shaking all over as I pull out my phone and press random buttons. My breathing is shallow and rapid, and I'm fighting to get it under control when someone picks up. _Who did I call? Who the fuck cares, I need help! _

I hold the phone to my ear and start talking. "Hello? Is s-someone there? Please h-help m-me... I'm at a b-bar in Portland a-and I need... I-I need... Help me please..." Someone on the other end start shouting, but I can't make out their words.

A darkness is crawling into the edges of my vision, slowly swallowing everything.

* * *

**Christian's ****POV:**

My eyes scan repeatedly over the computer screen. Spreadsheets and numbers are what I've been staring at for the past several hours.

I stand from my chair and locate the suite's wet bar. I've moved down to Portland to stay in the Heathman until graduation. I pour myself a glass of bourbon and return to the table where my work is spread out.

A hear Elliot shouting at the television. "Shut up, Lelliot!" I yell.

Then my Blackberry buzzes to life in my pocket.

I retrieve it, Ana's name appearing on the screen. "Miss Steele." I answer.

All I hear are quick breaths on the other end, then her usually controlled and silken voice is stuttering, ""Hello? Is s-someone there?" "Anastasia, what's wrong?" The hairs on the back of my neck rise as an uneasy feeling settles in my stomach. "Please h-help m-me..." "Ana!" I shout, but she doesn't hear me. "I'm at a b-bar in Portland a-and I need... I-I need.." _Just tell me, what's wrong? What happened?_ "Help me please..." Her whimper stirs something inside me, but I can't pay attention to it. "Ana! Listen to me! Tell me where you are, I'll come get you. Ana?" There's a click, and the line is dead.

For .2 seconds, I stare at my phone in bewilderment, then call Taylor. "Sir." he answers immediately. "Track Miss Steele's phone. I need her location now!" I growl. I hastily pull on my coat and shoes as Taylor retrieves Ana's location. "Bro, what's up?" Elliot mumbles, looking at me curiously. "It's Ana. Something's wrong."

"I found her, sir." he answers a moment later. "We're going to her now." I order, then hang up and leave the room, Elliot hurrying after me.

Taylor is in the hallway and following me as I storm down the corridor to the elevator. The atmosphere is tense and I am getting more impatient by the second. When the doors open, I'm sprinting out and to the garage. Taylor opens my door, and Elliot and I get in, and he shuts it and jumps into the driver's seat.

"Hurry, Taylor." I command. I know he can drive fast and not wreck, and I expect him to.

I stare out the window, looking for the bar Ana said she was at. The vehicle comes to screeching halt in a parking lot, and I jump out before Taylor can get my door. "Ana!" I yell, scanning the parking lot. "I'll look inside." Elliot says, going into the bar. I run towards the building. I see a small, curled up form leaning against the side of the building, and I run to it.

"Ana?" _Is she hurt? _I crouch next to her and brush her long, chestnut hair out of her face. Her eyes are closed and she's trembling. "Ana, wake up." I gently hake her shoulder, but she doesn't respond.

"Taylor!" I cry, and he runs over. "She passed out, sir." he says bending down and briefly examining her. "She has some blood in around her mouth, but I don't see any injuries." he says, lifting her head up.

"We're taking her back to the hotel. Tell Elliot." I say as I scoop her into my arms. She's wearing a coat, but her hands are ice cold. I hold her close to my chest - _Why am i not reacting to her against my chest? - _and it feels... good. She fits perfectly in my arms.

I cradle her small body in the car as we go back to hotel. I carry her upstairs, refusing to let Taylor take her.

That night, I do not dream. I just... sleep.

* * *

**Well... that happened. Please review!**


	5. Chapter 5

**And we're back! Let's get ready for draaaaaaamaaaaaaaaaaaa! WOOOOOOOOOOOO!**

* * *

_WAKE UP, DAMMIT! _

My eyes fly open, and I bolt upright. I'm in a bedroom. It's vaguely familiar... The room is open and plushly furnished in browns and golds and beige. I have seen it before. I'm in the Heathman hotel... in a suite. I have stood in a room similar to this with Kate, but this looks bigger.

I'm in Grey's suite.

_Fucking shit-eating rat-bastards from hell! How did I get here?!_

Memories form in my mind in all their awful glory - Jose, the puking, the phone call. _The fucking phone call! Dammit, I didn't want to call Grey!_

I'm wearing my t-shirt, bra, and panties. No socks. No jeans. Holy shit.

_The bastard! _I do a quick check; everything downstairs seems okey dokey, so he hopefully left that untouched.

There's a knock on the door. He opens the door and strolls in.

"Good-" "You _sick bastard_!" I shout. "How fucking dare you?!"

His eyes become dark and furious and a scowl forms on his faces that matches mine.

"Watch your tone, Anastasia." he growls.

"I am not a fucking child." I hiss.

"Now tell me why in hell I'm in your goddamn hotel suite with no fucking pants." "Maybe because you called me at fucking midnight and you were scared out of your goddamn mind!" he yells. His face is turning red from anger, and his nostrils flare like a bull's. "So why didn't you take me home?" I say through gritted teeth. "You were covered in blood and vomit!" "Then you should have taken me to a damn hospital!" He just glares at me, having no response.

He drops a large shopping bag on the floor and sits in a chair. Sighing heavily and raking his hands through his hair, he says, "Can we try discussing this like civil people?" "Fine." I mutter.

"Did you put me to bed?"

"Yes." His face is impassive.

"Did you undress me?" I whisper.

"Yes."

I clench my teeth and squeeze my eyes shut. "What. Did. You. See?" I snarl.

"I didn't see anything." he mumbles, his voice soft. I look up at him and narrow my eyes. "I placed you under the covers, then removed your jeans. I promise I did not look at you." he says. He seems sincere.

"How did you find me?"

"I tracked your cell phone." he says, as if it's no big deal.

I hold my head in my hands and take a few deep breaths, gathering my thoughts. "Mr. Grey, I sincerely apologize for disturbing you last night. Summoning you was never my intention. I very much appreciate you locating me, as I probably would have stayed where you found me all night. However, I am very displeased at the fact that you thought it okay to undress me and keep me in your bed. It would have been better for you to take me home."

His mood visibly shifts. His eyes soften marginally, then immediately harden again.

"I'm going to shower." he says, then enters the bathroom and closes the door.

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding and sag back against the pillows. _This sucks ass. Majorly._

I get out of bed, and search around the room for my jeans. I try futilely to tug my shirt down, then give up.

The door to the bathroom opens, and I squeal as I crouch behind the chair. _He can't see me. He'll be disgusted._ "Anastasia?" "Get out." I say, my voice scratchy. "Ana-" "Get out, Grey! I'm... uncovered." "It's nothing I haven't seen before." he says casually. "Would you just get the hell out?!" I shout. He's silent for a moment, then says, "I sent Taylor to get clean clothes for you they're in the bag." A door opens, then softly closes.

Slowly, I stand and look around the room. The bathroom door is open, steam rolling out, and the door leading out of the bedroom is shut. I pick up the bag.

In the bathroom, I strip off my clothes and shower very quickly, then get out and wrap a towel around my head and another around my body.

I inspect the contents of the shopping bag. Not only has Taylor brought me jeans and new Converse, but a pale blue shirt, white socks, and underwear. _How the hell does he know my size in everything?! _It creeps me out, but I need to put on something clean, so I slip on the pale blue lace bra and panties. _Damn, this is weird, but this shit is comfortable._

I dress quickly, then I towel-dry my hair and comb it as best I can with my fingers, leaving down.

I'm relieved to find the bedroom empty. Taking a deep breath, I go to the living area of the suite. It's huge. There's a plush seating area, all overstuffed couches and soft cushions, an elaborate coffee table with a stack of large glossy books, a study area with a Mac computer, and an enormous plasma screen TV on the wall. Christian is sitting at a dining table on the other side of the room reading a newspaper.

Christian looks up and stares at me. He's wearing a white linen shirt, collar and cuffs undone.

"Sit," he commands, pointing to a place at the table. "I am not a dog, Mr. Grey." I say calmly. His stare turns to a glare for a moment, then cools.

"I am only trying to ensure that you receive proper nourishment." he says, gesturing towards the table laden with food. "I didn't know what you liked, so I ordered a selection from the breakfast menu."

"Mr. Grey, this is unreasonable. I understand your purpose, but it's too much."

"Anastasia, I am only trying to give you the care you very obviously need."

"Giving me the care I need would be taking me to a hospital, not kidnapping me and taking me to your hotel. Not undressing me then giving me new clothes I will not accept. Not ordering the entire damn breakfast menu. And certainly not giving me first edition copies of classic novels!"

He stares me in silence for a long minute.

"You should steer clear from me." He closes his eyes as if in defeat. "There's something about you, though, and I'm finding it impossible to stay away. But I think you've figured that out already."

"Mr. Grey, I am extremely uncomfortable with all of this. I will be going now."

I walk out of the room, toward the front door of the suite. "Ana, wait!" He grabs my hand, pulling me back.

"Don't go." he whispers, sounding like a small boy.

"Christian, this is all wrong. I don't know you. You don't know me." "Then we'll get to know each other better." he says, tugging on my hand. I place my finger over his soft lips and shake my head. "I am thankful for all you've done, but I think our time has come to an end. Goodbye, Mr. Grey."

I turn and walk out, shutting the door quietly behind me. Walking down the silent corridor, I reach the elevator and press the button. It instantly dings, and the doors slide open. I step inside the empty car and wait for the doors to shut.

"ANA!" I jump, startled, and stop the doors from closing just as a man stumbles into the elevator. "Mr. Grey." I say impassively. He scowls and runs his hand through his hair. "Ana. Give me a chance, please. I told you I can't stay away from you. I know I sound like a madman, and I feel like a madman."

I contemplate this for a minute.

_Should I give him a chance? He's an arrogant, bipolar, frightening asshole. Do I really want to deal with this?_

_Or do I want to back out of something before I even completely understand what I'm giving up?_

With an enormous sigh, I lock eyes with him. "I finish work at eight." His eyes brighten. "I'll meet you here, alright?" I offer. He smiles. "Alright." He steps back, out of the elevator, and the doors close.


	6. Chapter 6

**Okay, so the last chapter was considerably short, and I know I've excluded the Elevator Scene. Coming up, the plot may slow down as they tentatively enter their new relationship. Again, my story WILL NOT be like the original book. They will not immediately dive into sex (however, there will be sexy times later, so be patient). They're relationship will take time and effort. There will be globs of drama and angst.**

** Soooo, here's chapter six!** **Enjoy!**

* * *

After a long, boring day at Clayton's, I return home.

I think of how, after I left Christian at the hotel, Taylor was waiting for me downstairs, insisting that he drive me home. I accepted only because I preferred it to walking.

Staring at my closet, I contemplate what I should wear tonight. I don't know if it should be formal or casual or sharp-casual; I've never really been on a date before. _That is really sad._ I scowl in frustration. I dig around and find a knee-length dress that's not too formal. The color is a soft, sunset orange, and I decide to pair it with white ballet flats. Because it's strapless, I put on a white cardigan. I brush my hair so it flows smoothly down my back.

My reflection looks at me, appraising. _Pretty good. I think this will work._ I nod and grab my black wristlet purse, which has my wallet, phone, and keys.

I leave the apartment and get in my old VW.

At the Heathman, I see a tall man standing by the front doors, looking around anxiously. Ayoung man in a valet's uniform hurries to open my door and take the keys. After taking my valet ticket, I walk up to the front door, and the man sees me. He grins broadly as I approach him. "Good evening, Miss Steele." he murmurs. "Good evening, Mr. Grey." He offers his hand, which I take with the intention of shaking, but he surprises me by bringing my hand to his lips and kissing the back of it. I take in his attire - a white shirt, semi-formal navy blue jacket, and black jeans.

"Shall we?" he says, tucking my hand into the crook of his arm. He leads me to his Audi, and Taylor is waiting. "Miss Steele." he greets with a nod of acknowledgment. "Hello, Taylor."

Taylor opens the door, and Christian assists me into the monstrous vehicle. I shift to the other side, and Christian gets in, then Taylor shuts the door.

"I'm assuming you have arranged plans for tonight." I say, putting on my seat belt. "I have. I think you'll enjoy it." he says, smirking.

Soon we're leaving the heart of the city, and going to a more calm, peacefully area of town. I look out the window, watching as we pass homes and apartment complexes.

The car slows down, and we turn onto gravel. Then we stop.

Outside the window, I see a park - an expanse of grass, dotted with benches, and playground at the opposite side.

I look at Christian curiously. "A park?" "Indeed, Miss Steele." he says. The door opens, and he gets out, then hurries around to open my door. He holds my hand as I descend from the vehicle. In his other hand is a large, woven basket, and draped over his arm is a folded blanket.

He holds my hand and leads me to a spot in the open, near but not next to one of the benches. He takes the blanket and unfolds it, then dramatically flutters it before spreading it out on the grass. Setting the basket down, he offers me his hand to help me sit. I tuck legs together as I sit, making sure my dress does not shift wrongly. Christian sits across from me and opens the basket.

"A picnic, Mr. Grey. How lovely." I say, my elbow on my knee and my chin in my hand.

"You sound surprised." he murmurs, glancing up at me.

"I've just never pictured you as one to enjoy eating in the great outdoors." "Oh? And how have you pictured me?" he asks, grinning. "As far as dining preferences, I've pictured you has one to enjoy fine wine, caviar... You know, that sort of thing." I say, shrugging.

He places a plate in front of each of us, then takes out turkey sandwiches, a bag of pretzels, and two cups. He pours a white wine into each of the cups and passes one to me. "Thank you," I say, taking the cup and sipping.

We begin to eat in quiet, the sun setting slowly on the horizon.

"Anastasia," Christian says, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "_Ana_." I correct. Something flashes through his eyes, and he smirks.

"What is this?" he asks, motioning to the space between us.

"What do you want it to be, Christian?"

He pauses for a moment.

"A date." he says. "I want it to be a date."

"Okay, then it's a date."

His look is quizzical and speculative.

* * *

**Christian's POV:**

"Ana, I am very confused."

"The feeling is mutual, I assure you." she mutters.

"Ana, listen. I operate a billion-dollar company. I can sail ships and fly helicopters-" "_What_?" she gasps. "Let me finish." I fix her with a hard gaze. "I can do all those things with ease, but I do not know how to do this." I wave my hand at the space between us.

"I don't know either, Christian." she whispers.

"Then how does this work?" I ask.

"Christian, I may not know much about relationships and dating, but I do know that there is no set formula. There isn't any one right answer. We just do whatever makes us happy." she says calmly. It's very difficult to believe that she doesn't know what she's talking about.

"I'm going to mess up and make you unhappy." I mumble.

"And I'm going to do the exact same thing." she says. "I would never intentionally make anyone else unhappy, but I do anyway. It's human nature, Christian."

I frown, still completely lost. _This is why I am a Dom. There are rules and plans for every rule broken. There is no emotion or confusion_.

"You're over-thinking this." Ana says bluntly.

"I am not." I insist, crossing my arms.

"You are." she presses.

"And you do know what you're doing. This," she gestures to the picnic, "is wonderful. Amazing. I've never been on another date, but I know they aren't normally as fantastic as this is."

"You've never been on a date?" I ask, eyes wide.

"I've been asked," she says, "but I've always declined. Unless you can't a whole group of male and female teenagers going to the movies as a date."

"Well, this is my first date too." I murmur.

Very quickly, something appears in her eyes, then it's gone, and she's grinning.

Ana stands up and faces the empty park. _What is she doing?_ "I, Anastasia Steele," she announces loudly, "am proud to be Christian Grey's first ever date."

She looks at me. "Ahem!" she says. "What?" I ask, bemused. "Are you not going to certify this once in a lifetime event?" she asks, her hands on her hips.

Smirking, I stand up and shout, "I, Christian Grey, and proud to be Anastasia Steele's first ever date."

Her grin widens.

"Taylor?" Ana calls. He sits up, looking to her from his position on the bench a little ways from us. "I am Christian Grey's first ever date, and he is my first ever date. You are our witness. Okay?" she asks, looking at him sternly. Then I see something I have never witnessed from Taylor before - the corner of his mouth twitches, which is the closest to thing I've ever seen to him smiling. "Yes, ma'am, Miss Steele." he replies, impassive once again.

* * *

The ride back to the hotel starts out quiet, but I'm itching to talk to her.

"Ana, where are we going from here?" I ask.

She gazes at me with many thoughts in her eyes. "That depends on where you want to go." she replies, her voice nearly a whisper.

* * *

**Ana's**** POV:**

His hands are in his pockets as Christian and I wait for the valet to bring my car. Taylor is standing silently a few paces behind us.

MY VW stops in front off us, and I take the keys from the valet, thanking him.

"_This _is your car?" Christian asks, horrified.

"Yes, and it has been my car for many years."

"It can't be roadworthy, or even vaguely safe." he says. "How is it not broken down or gone out of control?

"Taylor!" Christian summons Mr. Buzz-but, who stands at attention.

"Sir." "Order a new Audi for Miss Steele, and-"

"Hold it right there." I demand, standing in front of Christian.

"You are not buying me a car." I state.

"You are not driving that piece of junk." he rebuttals.

"Mr. Grey, may I give you my very firm and honest opinion?"

He frowns, but nods.

"You're an asshole, Mr. Grey."

With that, I get in my car and speed away, leaving him gaping.

* * *

The following days pass in a blur - wake up, work at Clayton's, come home, pack some, repeat.

This pattern continues until the day of graduation.

Ray is at the apartment half an hour before we have to leave for graduation, so we take the opportunity to talk and relax. He's doing his usual thing - watching sports on TV, constructing in his free time, fishing.

"So what have you been up to, Annie?" he asks, drinking his coffee.

"Working and packing, mostly." I say with a shrug.

"Don't you kids like to go out and have fun?" he murmurs, looking at his beverage.

"Going out isn't bad, I just don't have the desire to." I say.

He raises his eyebrows in disbelief.

"If you must know, I did have a date a few days ago."

"What's his name? What does he do? Is he nice?" Ray rapid-fires.

"Christian Grey." is the only answer I give.

His brow furrows as he thinks aloud, "I've heard that somewhere..."

"He's the CEO of Grey Enterprises." I mumble.

"Oh, yeah, that's right. Big-shot millionaire, eh?"

"More like a multi-billionaire." I say quietly, and Ray nearly chokes on his coffee.

He recovers from his coughing and narrows his eyes at me. "What is he like?"

Flashes of his seemingly bipolar mood system go through my head.

"He can be nice, but he can also be a major jerk."

"Has he done anything to you?"

"DAD. WE ARE NOT DISCUSSING THIS."

"Not like that!" he says, looking like he might puke. "I meant how does he treat you!"

"It's complicated." I mutter. "I met him when Kate was sick, but she had been waiting for months to interview him. So I went her place, and he was such an arrogant, stuck up, cryptic bastard, I prayed I would never see him again.

"And then later I accidentally called him because..." I trail off. _Shit. Ray will be furious if I tell him what Jose did._ "Because stuff happened and I needed help, and he found me. He said he was only trying to take care of me, but he went about it in a very strange way that I am not going to discuss.

"I think he must have realized he'd screwed up horribly, so I decided to give another chance, which lead to our date."

"What 'stuff' happened?" Ray questions, his tone demanding that I tell the absolute truth.

"Jose kissed me." I mumble under my breath, looking at my hands. I hear Ray's sharp breath, but I can't look up. "Is that all he did?" Ray asks. I nod once. "He wouldn't let go of me, so I did the only thing I could and bit him. He bled a lot, but he was off of me."

Ray's large hand covers mine. "Annie, it's not your fault. You defended yourself, and I'm proud of you for that."

I glance up at him. He smiles softly, then looks at his watch. "Come on, we better go, or you'll be late."

* * *

Ray and I follow the flow of people flooding into the auditorium, and separate to find our seats. I go the the S section and sit down between two girls talking animatedly.

This many people can send me to places I don't want to go, so I drown them all out and shut my eyes.

Very slowly, the noise dies down as the speakers make their way onto the stage. Among them are Kate and Christian.

I only half-listen to the speeches and clap when everybody else does until Kate steps up to the podium.

Her speech, though I've heard it before, is wonderful and delivered excellently. I stand to clap and cheer for her, as do many others.

_Mr. Grey._

After being introduced, he stands behind the podium, looks out at all of us, and begins.

"I'm profoundly grateful and touched by the great compliment accorded to me by the authorities of WSU today. It offers me a rare opportunity to talk about the impressive work of the environmental science department here at the University. Our aim is to develop via-ble and ecologically sustainable methods of farming for third world countries; our ultimate goal is to help eradicate hunger and poverty across the globe. Over a billion people, mainly in Sub-Saharan Africa, South Asia, and Latin America, live in abject poverty. Agricultural dysfunction is rife within these parts of the world and the result is ecological and social destruction. I have known what it's like to be profoundly hungry. This is a very personal journey for me..."

_What...?_ This is news. Christian has suffered the awful agony of true starvation.

I frown as an sensations flash into the front of my mind. _Dark and cold, creaking in the next room, the ache, oh the terrible ache. _Goosebumps rise on on my arms, and I hug myself tightly as I did then.

The crowd bursts into applause, startling me, and I jump. I clap weakly along with everyone.

Now this tedious, monotonous process of handing out each and every degree to hundreds of students. I wait and wait for my name to finally be called, then approach the stand and accept my diploma. I continue on, and I realize now that I have to shake Christian's hand.

He offers the slim appendage to me, which I grip loosely. I meet his eyes and see his lips, but I don't hear him. I quickly move on, before he's finished talking, and go back to my seat.

Finally, it's all over, and everyone is ushered into another area where they're serving cheap wine as we talk to friends and family.

I find Ray and we're about to leave when Kate rushes over. "Hello, Mr. Steele. It's lovely to see you again. I'm stealing Ana." then she gabs my hand and hauls me in another direction.

"Katherine!" I shout. She ignores me.

"Christian ants to talk to you." she says, pointing over her shoulder.

I look, and instantly my eyes meet burning gray.

"Want me to occupy him so you can leave?" she offers.

I scowl and shake my head. "No. I might owe him an apology."

"What for?" Kate asks, bewildered.

"I called him an asshole." I say, waving it off. Her mouth pops open.

"I won't be long. Could you talk to Ray, though?" "Sure." she says.

As soon as she leaves, Christian is in front of me.

"Miss Steele."

"Mr. Grey."

He gazes at me for a beat, then grabs my wrist and pulls toward what looks like a men's locker room.

Dragging me in behind him, he turns and locks the door. It's empty and quite.

"Anastasia."

I cross my arms.

"You haven't left my mind since our date," he says, "No, scratch that - you haven't left my mind since the interview. I do not understand why or how this is happening. I don't even know what's happening. You confound and bewilder me."

"Thank you sharing this completely useless information, Mr. Grey. Now, if you don't mind, I have to go." I turn to the door, and he reaches out, stopping me.

"We are not done here, Miss Steele." he hisses.

His expression softens slightly, and he says, "Forgive me for sounding like an annoying female protagonist in a bad romance story, but why haven't you called me?"

"You're a very busy man, Mr. Grey. I thought it better to leave you alone rather than incessantly badger you." I say impassively. "Besides, I thought our last encounter ended on a rather foul note and decided to let you take charge the way you seem to desire."

He blinks at me and steps back.

"Very well." he murmurs, "Tell me you feel absolutely nothing towards me whatsoever and you think that there is no hope of there ever being anything between us, and I will swear to never contact you again."

"Only the very desperate beings in particular circumstances can truly experience no hope, Mr. Grey."

He nods slowly and asks, "What are your plans for the next few days?"

"Kate and I are moving to Seattle on Saturday."

"You have a place in Seattle already?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

"I can't remember the address, but I know it's in the Pike Market District."

"Not far from me," his lips twitch up in a half smile. "So what are you going to do for work in Seattle?"

"I've applied for some internships. I'm waiting to hear from the companies."

"Have you applied to my company as I suggested?"

"No."

He rubs his chin in thought.

"And what's wrong with my company?"

"It's not what I desire."

"What do you desire?" he asks, his eyes glinting with that wickedness.

"Have you heard the saying 'If you love what you do, you'll never work a day in your life'?"

"I believe I have."

"Well, I love to read. I love books. I want to do something where I can do what I love, hence my decision to work in editing and publishing."

I hear a ringing from my clutch purse and open it to find my phone buzzing wildly. I look at the name flashing.

"A moment please, Mr. Grey." I mutter, then answer.

"Dad?" "Where are you?" "In the bathroom. I'll be back in a minute, Dad." "Alright, I'll be here." Thank you." I hang up, putting my phone away.

"Ray?" Grey questions. "Yes. He's waiting for me." "I see."

"Mr. Grey, I believe this concludes our encounter."

I start walking to the door when he says, "Dinner."

I look at him over my shoulder.

"I want to have dinner with you." he elaborates.

"Fine. Call me with a time and date, and I'll get back to you." I concede. "And, Mr. Grey? I remain standing firmly by my opinion."

Opening the door, I exit and find Ray.


	7. Chapter 7

**Hi, there! *waves* How is it so far? Good? I hope so. Anyway, on with the story!**

* * *

Staring at my empty apartment, I feel an odd pang of something similar to sadness. While I'm glad to be done with school, I can't honestly say I'm completely, 100 percent prepared for what lies ahead.

Kate and Elliot are waiting outside in the moving van, and I walk outside to join them, shutting and locking the door behind me.

* * *

Falling, I sprawl on my bed. Finally everything is out of the van, and now I have to unpack. I go to the box labeled "Ana's bedroom" and open it, removing the bedding from inside. Humming to myself, I make the bed, putting down the white fitted and flat sheets, the dark blue comforter, and finally the pillows. Then I move to the boxes with my clothes and start putting them in the closet and in my dresser.

Taking a break, I go out to the kitchen to get a drink when my phone rings. I look at the name flashing and think about ignoring it for a second.

Fighting to smile, I answer, "Mr. Grey."

"Miss Steele. I believe you requested that I call you with a date and time for our next meeting."

"Yes, I did."

"I'll be there at seven thirty tonight to pick you up."

"Mr. Gr-"

_Click._ The line goes dead in my ear. I scowl at my phone and drop it onto the counter. _Mr. Grey needs to learn some manners._

I sigh and decide to start unpacking in here and go to the first box.

Kate comes out of her room at ten til six in the evening, looking at me tiredly.

"Unpacked in there?" I ask, placing dishes in the cabinets.

"Yeah. You?" she murmurs, picking up cups to put them away.

"Not quite. Just some books and such that can wait."

"Where you on the phone earlier?" she asks.

"I was." I confirm.

"With...?"

Pausing, I quietly say, "Christian Grey."

Her eyes widen fractionally. "Oh? And what does he want?"

"We're going out again tonight. No big deal."

"Oh, Ana," she says, sighing lightly, "Kind, ignorant, little Ana."

"Hey!" I swat her arm playfully.

"He's falling hard and fast for you, hon."

I nearly drop the stack of plates I'm carrying.

"Katherine Kavanagh, he is not falling for me." I say, "He's just confused and will soon move on. I'm not attached or invested; neither of us is."

"Ana, I know men. He may not know it, but he's falling, and whether or not you're willing to admit it, you know it too."

"He said it himself that's he's confused and doesn't know what's going on."

"Hm." Kate hums, considering this. "How many relationships has he been in?" she asks.

"From what I can tell, none."

"No!" Kate gasps, staring at me in disbelief. "The man is twenty-seven! I know he's never been seen with a date anywhere, but he has to have had someone over the years!"

"Kate, he told me that he's only ever been on one date and that it was with me."

"Aw!" she says, nearly swooning. "Ah, the beauty of a first love. Isn't it grand?" Dramatically, she clasps her hands over her heart.

"When is he picking you up?"

"Seven thirty."

"What?!" she screeches looking around for a clock. She picks up my phone, and her eyes become huge. "You only have an hour and a half to get ready!"

"Kate, calm-"

"Move it, sister! I have magic to work!"she commands, pushing me toward her bedroom.

* * *

Well over an hour later, I am standing in front of the mirror in Kate's room, my eyes shut tightly.

She shoved me into the shower, demanding I wash everything and shave, then proceeded to blow dry and style my hair expertly, and carefully applied very minimal makeup. Leaving the bathroom, she dragged me to her bedroom and insisted I wear one of her dresses.

Now she stands next to me and says, "Open your eyes."

I slowly do so, and take in the person in the mirror.

She wears a plum-colored dress with a fitted skirt that sits just above her knees and sleeves the gently hug her arms to her elbows. on her feet are strappy black 3-inch pumps. Her chestnut hair is halfway pinned up, out of her face, while the rest falls in loose curls down her back. Lightly brushed on her eyelids is a dark but subtle eyeshadow. She is very pretty.

I turn to Kate.

"Thank you. I never could have done this myself." I say, hugging her lightly and quickly.

"You're welcome, Ana. You know I'd do anything for you." She smiles.

For as pushy and controlling - and sometimes bitchy - she is, Katherine Kavanagh is a sweetheart.

"Now go knock Grey on his ass!" she cheers, pushing me to the front door.

As if on cue, someone knocks. Kate hands me my wristlet, and I take it, thanking her.

I open the door, and standing before me is the copper-haired fellow himself, wearing dark gray slacks and jacket over a black button-up shirt.

"Christian."

"Ana."

There's a quiet pause, and I look over my shoulder just as strawberry blonde hair is disappearing around the corner. "Quiet spying, Kate! I'll be back later."

I step outside, shutting the door behind me.

Christian takes my hand and kisses my knuckles, ever the gentleman. "You look beautiful." he murmurs, his lips brushing against my skin.

"As do you." I say, clasping his hand.

He raises and eyebrow, saying, "I'm beautiful?"

"Very." I whisper.

His usual smug and confident expression softens into something much more warm and gentle.

* * *

**Christian's POV:**

_Beautiful. She thinks I'm beautiful. If only she really knew me.  
_

"Come." I lead her to Audi, where Taylor is waiting.

"Miss Steele." he greets. "Hi, Taylor." she says politely.

He opens the door, and Ana and I get in.

"How has your day been?" I ask, rubbing slow circles on the back of her hand with my thumb.

"A bit tiring. I'm glad we're moved, though. Your brother was a big help." she admits.

"Elliot can be difficult." I mutter.

"Perhaps, but he's utterly smitten with Kate, and he was very nice to me." _Well, thank you for that bit of ammunition to use against my brother._

"And how was your day?" she asks.

"Well enough, I suppose."

_Boring and empty without you.  
_

_WHAT?! Where did THAT thought come from? No, I do not do hearts and flowers._

Some strange feeling is festering in the back of my mind, just out of my reach, taunting me to no end.

* * *

"Where are we going?" Ana asks after a few minutes.

"I thought a quiet, private dinner at home would be pleasant."

Her eyes narrow almost imperceptibly.

"Sounds lovely." she murmurs. "Where do you live?"

"Escala. An apartment complex."

Soon after I say it, the building is in view.

Ana's lips part and her eyes widen in shock, then she composes herself into an impassive expression.

Taylor drives into the underground parking garage, and stops in the designated spot. He exits the vehicle and opens our doors.

I try to read Ana's expression, but it's an impossible task. She's very good at hiding what she's feeling and thinking.

Leading her to the elevator, I press the call button, and the doors open immediately. We step in, and I enter the code to the penthouse.

Anastasia glances at me, then returns her gaze to the doors.

The atmosphere is charged with an unmistakeable yet unnamed current that only grows stronger until the doors open.

Taylor departs, leaving Ana and I alone.

I open the door from the foyer to the entry, ushering her through.

* * *

**Ana's POV:  
**

_Holy shit._

Christian's apartment is colossal, stunning, extravagant, and, most of all, _white._ _So damn white._

It's like his office - every surface is pristine white, and it's cold and clinical. Almost disturbingly so.

_White. Everything is white. But dirty. Sluggish figures move around with glazed-over eyes. It reeks of dirt and lost hope. Sadness._

I blink, the flashback gone as quickly as it came.

"Ana?"

Looking at Christian, I realize he's been calling my name.

"Anastasia, are you okay?"

Dazedly, I nod. "I'm fine. Just a bit stunned." I murmur.

A hint of concern floats in his gray pools as he meets my gaze, then he nods once.

I'm given a brief tour of the downstairs area of his apartment - the living room, sitting room, and dining room, all looking out at a glorious view of Seattle through floor-to-ceiling windows, and the professional-scale gourmet kitchen.

In the kitchen is a woman, older than me but still very young, bustling about, preparing a meal.

She sees Christian and pauses her work, smiling politely. "Good evening, Mr. Grey."

"Mrs. Jones, I'd like you to meet Anastasia Steele. Anastasia, this is my house keeper, Mrs. Jones." he introduces.

"It's a pleasure to meet you." I say, offering her my hand and smiling.

"The pleasure is all mine, Miss Steele." she says, shaking my hand as her smiles brightens.

"Please, call me Ana." I insist. She nods and says, "Dinner will be ready momentarily."

Christian leads me to the sitting room, where a black grand piano glimmers in the setting sun.

Smiling, he sits on the polished bench and lifts the cover from the smooth keys. His fingers rest on the black and whites for a moment, then he begins to play softly.

I watch in awe as his fingers move gracefully and expertly, and his face takes on the warmest and most relaxed expression I've ever seen.

The piece isn't long, and I know it's coming to a close when he fingers slow, then stop completely.

That was the most beautiful thing I've ever heard.

Replacing the cover, he stands and looks at me.

"Christian, that was incredible. How long have you been playing?"

"Since I was six." he murmurs.

"You're wonderful." I breathe.

He's standing close to me. Right in front of me. I could lift my hand and touch him without reaching. His calm, heated, gray orbs are locked on mine. His slender hands move under mine, then turn over, our palms touching. For the first time in forever, my heart begins to pound, not with fear but with eager anticipation. My fingers curl around the bases of his hands, fingertips on his wrists, as his fingers wrap around my wrists. Our gazes never wavering, he slowly begins to bend, his lips parting in the slightest -

"Dinner is-" We jump apart, our hands returning to our sides, and I turn around. Behind me, Mrs. Jones stands with her mouth open in shock.

"Yes?" Christian inquires, his tone cool.

"My apologies for interrupting, sir. Dinner is served." she says, composed once again.

"Thank you, Mrs. Jones. I'll call you when you're needed again."

"Yes, sir." she says, nods, and leaves to areas unknown.

Christian runs his hand through his hair, gives me a wry smile, and motions to the dining room. "Shall we?"

I start walking and find two places at the long table set, directly across from each other. Two tall, skinny, white candles are set outside the places, one off to each side.

Reaching ahead of me, Christian pulls out my chair for me, grinning. "Thank you," I say as I sit, and he gently pushes it forward.

He takes his seat across from me as I look at my plate. Grilled chicken breast, mixed vegetables, and macaroni and cheese.

We begin the meal in peaceful quiet as rain begins to fall outside.

"Are you enjoying the food?" Christian asks.

I nod and dab my mouth with the napkin. "It's delicious, and it's even better that I didn't have to cook it." I say, laughing lightly.

Christian grins as he raises a brow. "You can cook?"

"I'm not a professional, but compared to Kate or Ray, I'm a gourmet chef."

He chuckles and sits back after taking the last bite of his food.

I finish off what's left on my plate, then set down my utensils.

Standing, Christian walks to a large sound system and turns it on, the iPod on attached to it streaming classical music.

Offering his hand to me, he asks, "Would you like to dance?"

I hesitate, thinking about dancing, meaning he would have his hands on me. I swallow hard, too afraid to say anything.

"If you don't mind," he continues in a soft voice, "I would like to dance in way that's a little less than traditional."

_This could either be very good or very bad._

Pressing my lips together, I stand and place my hand in his.

Christian leads me to the open space on the hard floors. His left hand starts to move to my waist, and I stiffen, but he stops short and cups my elbow in his palm. Naturally, my forearm rests on his, my right hand beneath his elbow on his forearm. His right hand clasps my left, our fingers intertwined. _Genius. This is perfect._

In exact time with the music, we move around the floor is large circles, and he spins me around, smiling as I giggle. We move flawlessly in sync, our rhythm never faltering.

When the music comes to a dramatic close, I burst into laughter.

"Mind sharing the joke I missed?" Christian asks, his broad grin making him even more beautiful.

"I've never had more fun."

* * *

Heat from the blazing flames in the fireplace warms me and makes the plain apartment feel more like a home.

I sit on the couch with my legs crossed and my shoes on the floor, a glass of red wine in my hand. _Fourth of fifth glass? Hm? Meh, whatever._

Christian sits next to me, facing me with one leg tucked under the other.

"Okay, wait," I say, laughing and turning to him. "Your sister pushed Elliot down the hill?" "Yeah, but Mom thought I did it." he says, sipping from his own glass of wine.

I've been listening to stories of his family vacations for a while, losing myself in the sound of his voice and his animated expressions. This is comfortable, casual, easy. I like it.

"Did you get in trouble?" "Nah, Mia told Mom Elliot tripped and fell on his own." I giggle, taking a big drink of the smooth liquid.

"Tell me about your vacations as a kid." he urges.

"There's nothing to tell. I never went on vacations." I say, staring at the dancing orange and red. "Well, Ray took me on a few fishing trips that lasted a day or two, but that's about it."

Christian is quiet for a minute, then asks, "Do you like fishing?"

I shrug. "I don't dislike it, but I went because it made Ray happy."

A quiet moment, the only sound the crackling fire.

"You're a good person, Ana." he whispers.

I shake my head slowly. "Not really." I murmur.

"Tell me something about yourself."

"That your stalker self doesn't already know?" I grin.

"I'm not a stalker." he grumbles.

"Christian, you picked me up at my apartment, and I never gave you the address."

A warm pink color flushes his face, and he smiles sheepishly.

"You really want to know something about me?"

He nods, insistent.

"Okay. Story time." I say, turning to him. "Picture a woman, grieving her late husband, with a newborn baby. Shortly after her husband's death, she gets a call from one of his friends. She remembers him as quiet and reserved, but very kind and gentle.

"Fast forward several months, and the woman and man are happily married. The baby is quickly growing in a healthy toddler. Everything is perfect for years.

"The baby, now a twelve-year-old girl, notices that her mother is taking longer than she used to when running her usual errands. Everyday, the mother comes home a little later than yesterday.

"This continues until the girl's thirteenth birthday, when the stepfather finds out his wife has been cheating on him for a year. They divorce, and the mother takes her daughter to live with her new stepfather in Texas.

"The new stepfather is not at all like the first stepfather. He is cold and distant. He has a son a few years older than the girl.

"Then the abuse begins."

I pause, reaching for the wine bottle on the coffee table and refilling my glass with more than I should probably drink.

"It starts off small," I continue, staring at the fire. "A few little verbal jabs here and there from the stepbrother. It has little to no influence on the girl, so she doesn't say anything to her parents, assuming it will go away.

"Then it becomes physical. Small pushes and light smacks every now and then. She doesn't like it, but she's never seriously injured, so she doesn't say anything.

"It all gets bigger, more intense. The little jabs become harsh epithets and cruel insults. The small pushes and light smacks turn into forceful shoves and powerful punches. She tries to tell her mother, but the woman is often too busy with her husband.

"The stepbrother, now in his late teens, has the urges all teenagers have. He decides his stepsister can fulfill his desires, and takes her against her will. she fights as best she can, but she is small and weak, and he is big and strong. When she fights him, he ties her up and beats her with whatever he can find. He doesn't stop until he sees blood.

"The girl doesn't have any friends, and her mother is too busy getting high or drunk with her husband to care that her daughter is being harmed and raped.

"It continues for years. The mother and stepfather soon join in on hurting and raping the little girl. When the stepbrother goes off to college, they continue without him. Everyone tells the girl she's dirty and worthless, and they only keep her around because she's their punching bag and sex toy.

"Now seventeen years old, the girl calls the police one night when her parents are out. The law gets involved, and finds more than enough evidence in the girl's house to put her parents away in jail. They try to track down the stepbrother, and when they find him, he's overdosed on drugs, lying dead in his dorm.

"The first stepfather, the one who has sent the girl cards and gifts on her birthday and Christmas, the only person in the world who cares about her, comes to Texas and takes his daughter home.

"The girl, now a woman going off to college, is still tormented by the horror inflicted upon her as a teenager. She is reminded day and night that she is worthless and useless by the mental, emotional, and physical scars. The end." I finish, gulping the rest of my wine and setting it on the coffee table with a sardonic smile.

I hear a crash, glass breaking, and look up to find Christian pacing the floor furiously, nearly ripping his hair out, his wine glass shattered on the floor.

"Christian!" I bolt up and over to him, grabbing his wrists and stilling his hands. "Christian, look at me." I demand. His darting, rage-filled gray eyes lock on mine. _He's lost. He's going to break something else or hurt himself. _

Taylor runs into the room with a gun in his hand. Mrs. Jones in behind him, looking frightened and worried. I ignore them for now, focusing solely on Christian.

"Christian Grey. Look. At. Me." I command, enunciating slowly. Digging my nails into his wrists, I remove his hands from his head and place his palms on my cheeks, holding his hands there. His eyes focus, but he's still breathing hard, and I can practically hear his heart beating hard against his ribcage.

"I need you to breathe like me, okay?" I ask, my voice soft but my tone firm. He nods slowly. I take in a deep breath, and he copies me, then I let mine out, and he releases his. "Good. Again." We repeat the motions several more times until his breathing is mostly back to normal.

"Good boy." I whisper, loosening my hold on his wrists. "Very good, Christian. Come with me."

Holding his hands, I lead him to the couch and make him sit. I stand in front of him, both of his hands holding my left while I run the fingers of my right hand through his hair gently, slowly.

I look up at Taylor and Mrs. Jones, both standing there completely shocked. "Mrs. Jones, can you please get me a glass of water and a cool, damp cloth? Taylor, please clean the glass off the floor over there. Be careful." I nod to the area where Christian threw his glass.

Still stunned, they do as I asked. "Thank you," I whisper, taking the glass of water from Mrs. Jones. I hold the glass to Christian's lips, and he parts them. I tip the glass, and he slowly drains it of its contents.

Giving the glass back to Mrs. Jones, I take the cold, moist cloth. "This is going to be cold, Christian." I warn, then carefully wipe his face and neck with it. He closes his eyes, his muscles going lax. He presses the palm of my left hand against his cheek and holds it there as I give the cloth back to Mrs. Jones.

"Are you okay, Christian?" He nods slowly, looking up at me with those calm pools of gray.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have dumped that on you." I whisper.

Sighing, I put on my shoes. "I need to go home."

"You don't have to go." Christian says, standing.

"It's late, Christian."

"You can stay here." he murmurs, the wicked gleam from when I first met him in his eyes.

Those frightening chills shoot up and down my spine.

I shake my head. "No, Christian. I'm going home."

Leaving his look of disappointment unacknowledged, I grab my wristlet purse from the couch and go to the kitchen.

"Thank you for dinner, Mrs. Jones. It was wonderful."

She smiles. "It's my pleasure."

Christian, standing near the foyer doors, watches me as I approach him.

"Taylor will take you home." he says, his voice as well as his eyes cool and hard.

On cue, Taylor appears silently, his hands clasped in front of him.

I nod and step closer to him. Standing my tip-toes, I kiss his cheek, and whisper in his ear, "Goodnight, Christian."

His inhales sharply, looking down at me.

Taylor opens the door to the foyer, and I walk out, pressing the elevator call button.

Looking over my shoulder, I smirk at Christian and step into the elevator.

* * *

**Good? Bad? Yes? No? Maybe? **

**Please review! :-)  
**


	8. Chapter 8

**So in the last chappie, we got Ana's story. Let us see how the story progresses...**

* * *

**Christian's POV:**

I hear the ding of the elevator before Taylor's voice behind me.

"Sir?"

Turning, I look at him.

"Permission to speak freely, sir?"

"Granted, Taylor."

"What are your intentions with Miss Steele?"

Eying him speculatively, I mumble, "Why do you ask?"

"Because, sir, I have worked for you for four years, and I have watched every one of the fifteen come in and out of here. Miss Steele deserves better than that, so if you wish to make her number sixteen, you can consider me no longer your employee."

My eyes widen. This is the most Taylor's ever said at once, and this is the most emotion I've ever heard in his voice.

"What should I do, Taylor?"

"Whatever makes her happy."

* * *

**Ana's POV:  
**

I lay in bed, tormented by the memories.

**_Crack!_**

This is not real. It's in my head. I do not feel the whip. I do not feel the belt.

**_Crack!_**

This is not real. It's in my head. I do not feel the whip. I do not feel the belt.

_Yes! I can! This fucking hurts!_

I writhe, falling out of my bed as the scars on my back burn with a terrorizing intensity.

_What's happening?!_

_**Crack!**_

I drop to my knees, slamming my head hard on something.

_Make it stop! MAKE IT STOP!_

**_Crack!_**

_Mommy! Help me!_

"Ana!"

There's light flooding the room.

A hand on my back!

_Let me go!_

I jump back, cowering by the foot of my bed.

A figure looms above me, slender and curvy at first glance, then it morphs into tall and skinny.

_He's dead. He's not really here. He's dead._

**_Crack!_**

_HE'S HERE!  
_

I dash out of the room and run as fast as I can.

A voice behind me shouts, and it spurs me on.

Cold air hits me, making my skin sting where it's uncovered, but I can't stop.

_If I stop, they'll hurt me. They'll drag me back and tie me up and beat me for running._

My bare feet slap down on the pavement as I run to an unknown destination.

_Don't stop, don't slow down, don't stop, don't slow down._

It hurts to breathe, but I can't stop running.

My shirt must be on fire for my back to be burning like this.

_Where the hell am I?_

I catch glimpses of the buildings around me, none of them recognizable.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I see a familiar structure.

_Safety. Comfort. Happy._

The words rolling across my mind are enough to make go in that direction, toward the building, though I do not know why those words came to me.

I burst through the front door, the security people appearing around me instantly.

"Ma'am, are you a resident here?" one of them asks.

"Grey." I mumble, backing away from them.

_I can't breathe._

"Are you a resident, ma'am?" another, fatter man asks.

_My lungs burn._

"Grey." I say, louder this time.

"Are you a resident?" the last one to speak says, exasperated.

_Get away from me!_

"Out of my way." a new man demands, pushing his way closer to me but staying a respectable distance away. "Miss, do you need us to call someone for you?" he asks, his voice gentle.

_Make the burning stop!_

"Grey." I say, my voice breathy.

The newest one walks to a desk and picks up a phone, dialing a number.

I heave breaths in and out painfully, clutching at my t-shirt as I try desperately to stop the burn.

"Ma'am, what's your name?"

"Ana."

**_Crack!_**

I nearly scream, biting my lip hard enough that I taste blood to choke it back.

A moment later, the elevator dings, and the doors open, revealing Taylor in jeans and a jacket over his white t-shirt.

"Miss Steele." his voice is soft.

**_Crack!_**

_Oh God, they found me! They found me!_

A hand tenderly touches mine, and I look up into Taylor's eyes.

"Come with me, Miss Steele." he orders gently, urging me in the direction of the elevator.

I step into the car with him, wrapping my arms tightly around myself as the door close.

_**Crack!**_

"Miss Steele, your head is bleeding." Taylor says, looking at me with concern.

"They're going to find me." I whisper.

"Miss Steele?"

The ding that accompanies the door opening startles me, making me cringe.

A woman with long blonde hair, wearing a white sleeveless nightgown, is standing in the foyer.

"Miss Steele, please let Gail take care of the wound on your head." Taylor says, motioning to the woman.

Nodding, I timidly step forward, and she takes my hand.

"Come with me, Miss Steele."

She leads me to the kitchen, turns on a light, and sits me on a stool. I watch as she goes to a cupboard under the sink and takes out a first-aid kit.

Removing a cotton ball, she dabs it in hydrogen peroxide. "This will sting, Miss Steele."

"Ana," I say quietly. "Call me Ana, please."

She smiles as she cleans the blood from my head.

"Call me Gail." she says, placing a band-aid on the wound.

"Ana, dear," she murmurs, handing me a glass of water and pain medicine. "Can you tell me what happened?"

"Carla and Stephen and Damon." I whisper.

"Are you hurt anywhere else?" she asks.

I shake my head slowly.

"Thank you, Gail."

**_Crack!_**

I scream, covering my head.

"What the fuck is going on?!" a man's voice thunders.

* * *

**Christian's POV:**

I'm starting to develop a serious case of MEGO from working for the past few hours.

_This is ridiculous. I'm going soft. I can do more than this!_

Standing, I relieve the stiffness set into my back and neck.

Outside my office door, the faint ding of the elevator and murmuring voices can be heard.

_The fuck...?_

Whatever Taylor and Mrs. Jones are doing will cease soon enough.

I go the alcohol cabinet and remove a glass and bottle of scotch, pouring myself a drink. I knock it back, feeling the burn as the liquid slides down my throat.

A woman screams, and I drop the glass.

I run out of the room, shouting, "What the fuck is going on?"

Taylor runs into the kitchen, and I follow him.

Mrs. Jones is cradling the head of girl sitting on the counter. I can't see the girl's face, but Mrs. Jones is obviously trying to calm her.

"Taylor." He turns, standing at attention. "My office."

I walk out, and he follows, shutting the door to my office once he's inside. "Who is that girl? What is she doing here?" "Miss Steele, sir."

_WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK_

"I received a call from the lobby that a woman was here saying 'Grey'. I went down and brought her up. There's a wound on her head, she's highly strung, and in the elevator she said something about someone finding her."

There's a knock at the door, and Taylor opens it. "Mr. Grey." Mrs. Jones says, entering and shutting the door softly behind her. "Has she told you anything, Mrs. Jones?" I ask, running my hands through my hair. "I asked her what happened and she said 'Carla and Stephen and Damon'."

Taylor looks at me, recognizing the names of her mother, second stepfather, and stepbrother at the same time I do.

"Fuck! She had an episode or something." I hiss, fingers raking through my hair repeatedly.

"Sir?"

Ignoring Taylor, I dash out of the room and find Ana still sitting on the kitchen counter, hugging her knees to her chest.

"Ana?"

She looks up, her blue eyes wide and frightened.

"Christian." she whispers.

I slowly approach her and stand before her. She holds out her hand, and I take it, folding it gently in mine.

"What happened?"

"I could feel the whip. And the belt. I heard it swing through the air." her terror-filled, shaking voice murmurs.

She flinches at something, whimpering as she arches her back suddenly. "Make it stop burning, please!" she cries, looking at me desperately.

Pulling me closer, she wraps her arms around me and buries her face in the crook of my neck.

_She's touching me. Fucking hell, she's touching me! _

I tense, expecting the pain that normally comes whenever I'm touched, but it doesn't come.

_No pain... She can touch me. It doesn't hurt._

Her scared squeal brings me out of my shocked state, and I hesitate before touching her anywhere.

_The last time I touched her she yelled and ran away._

Carefully, I hold her in my arms, stroking her hair with on hand while the other rests lightly on her back.

She stiffens at first, then sags against me.

"I'm scared." she whispers. "Don't be. You're safe. No one can hurt you here." I assure her.

"Thank you, Christian." she mumbles, closing her eyes.

"You're welcome, Ana." I murmur. "Are you tired?" In response, she nods.

Twisting, I slide one arm under her knees, keeping the other under her back, and lift her off the counter. She winds her arms around my neck, her head lolling on my shoulder.

Cradling Ana against my chest, I walk out of the kitchen, going in the direction of my bedroom. As I pass Taylor and Mrs. Jones, their expressions are neutral, but their eyes display shock. _Yeah, I don't get it either._

I nudge the door to my room open with my foot, and go inside, softly kicking it closed behind me.

Drawing back the duvet and sheet, I gently set Ana down, then cover her.

When I turn to leave, I feel a small hand weakly grab at my wrist. I turn back, and Ana is fighting to stay awake, but still reaching for me. "Stay." she mumbles. I debate with myself for only a second before kicking my shoes off and climbing under the covers next to her. I hold her close to me, one arm over her waist and the other under her head as she uses my bicep as a pillow. She snuggles into me, relaxing and breathing evenly and slowly as she drifts back to sleep.

I lightly kiss her forehead and whisper, "Goodnight, Ana."

* * *

**Forgive me for this being rather short, but I have a plan in mind of how to keep the chapters going smoothly.**

**Reviews make me happier than a kid being given a Toys R Us store. :-)**


	9. Chapter 9

**Welcome!**

**I know the last chapter was not as long as I wanted, but putting this chapter and the last chapter would have been too many feels and fluff and such to cram into one chapter. So here's number 9! Enjoy!**

* * *

**Christian's POV:**

"Christian,"

_Go away. I'm sleeping._

"Get up, Christian."

_I don't want to._

"WAKE UP, BASTARD!"

I wake with a start, finding big blue eyes glaring at me.

"Good morning." I grumble sarcastically, sitting up.

Ana scowls, standing next to the bed with her arms crossed.

I clear the sleep from my eyes, and of course the first thing I notice is her chest and legs. _How did I not see the tank top and shorts last night?! Damn, she's beautiful._

She catches my gaze and growls at me. "Can you not be such a male?!" she mutters, crossing to my dresser. She opens a drawer, sifts through it momentarily, closes it, then opens another, and pulls out one of my t-shirts. She slips it on, and it covers more than her tank top and shorts did.

_She must not realize that wearing my clothes is even sexier, but I think I'll point that out some other time._

Taking a deep breath, she sits on the bed and looks at me seriously.

"The last time I woke up in your bed, I yelled and swore at you. So, this time, I'm going to try to stay calm, but you have to do the same."

I nod. "Alright. I'll tell you what I know, then we'll ask questions." She nods. "Last night, you came into the lobby and all you could say was 'Grey', so the front desk called Taylor, and he went down to get you. You said someone was going to find you, you has a wound on your head, and you were afraid of something. Mrs. Jones took care of your head, and when she asked you what happened, you said, 'Carla and Stephen and Damon'." Her eyes widen, and she bites her lip. "You said you could feel and hear a whip and a belt. You said something was burning." She starts to visibly tremble and whimpers as something flashes through her mind.

Reaching out, I try to hold her, but she jumps and scrambles away from me. "Ana, I promise I won't hurt you." "I know." she murmurs and sighs. Her eyes lock on mine, then drift to gaze at empty air. "It's called thixophobia, also known as haphephobia. It's-" "the fear of being touched." I say, finishing her sentence. "I have it too." She looks back at me, chewing on her bottom lip.

"When someone normally touches me-" "it burns." she completes. "It hurts like nothing else and you think Hell would be better than having someone touch you." _Exactly._ "Though for a reason I cannot fathom, you can touch me." Her brow furrows in confusion. I grab her hand and press her palm to my chest. I involuntarily flinch, and she tries to pull her hand away, but I hold it tightly. There's a silent moment, and I relax.

"It doesn't hurt." I whisper.

I release her hand and start undoing the buttons on my shirt. "Christian, this is not the time to strip." I smirk and shrug out of the shirt.

Ana keeps her eyes on mine, refusing to look at my chest.

_I should tell her..._

"Don't, Christian." she says firmly. "You have no obligation to tell me your story." "Ana, you told me yours." She purses her lips. "It doesn't work like that. You don't owe me anything." Voice and features softening, she adds, "Only if you really want to, Christian. If you don't want to tell me, don't."

_Get it over with._

"The woman who gave birth to me was a crack-whore. She didn't care about me, and her pimp hated me." Pictures slide across my mind like a film, grabbing me as more words spill out of my mouth. "Whenever he was angry, or just felt like being a dick, he would beat me. Sometimes he used me as an ashtray. I saw my biological mother being fucked so she could get her next fixed. I spent the first four years of my life in starvation and filth. Then the crack-whore got tired of it and swallowed a bunch of pills. I was with her body for four days before the pimp found us and called the police, then he left. When the police came, the doctor called to the scene was Grace, who adopted me."

I shake my head, and Ana is standing up on the bed, scowling furiously. "HOW THE FUCK COULD SOMEONE DO THAT AN INNOCENT LITTLE BABY?! YOU COULDN'T HAVE DONE ANYTHING! YOU WERE HELPLESS!" She leaps off the bed and slams her fist into the wall.

"Ana!" I dart over to her and wrap my arms around her from behind, pinning her arms to her sides. "Ana, listen to me, I'm okay. It's over. They're gone." She struggles against me, trying to wriggle free, then droops in my arms, her head hanging.

Stepping back, I release her and reach for her hand. "Did you break your hand?" I ask, gently probing and examining her hand. "I'm fine. A little bruising, maybe." she mumbles. Raising her head an inch, she glances around me. "Sorry about your wall." "I don't care about the goddamn wall, Ana."

She sighs, then looks up, and her eyes widen. I follow her gaze to my chest, at the small, distorted circles of skin. She raises her hand, then hesitates. "You can touch." I murmur. As lightly as a feather, her fingertips brush across my sternum. To my surprise, she leans forward and kisses one of the scars. I gasp, and she kisses another.

Abruptly, she turns around and demands, "Touch me."

"Ana-" "Now, dammit!" I rest my hand on her upper back, and she winces. "D-don't move." she whispers, voice cracking. I obey, holding as still as possible.

She breathes deeply. "You can move your hand." she says softly, relaxing. I rub in gentle circles, slowly moving lower on her back. Gradually, she relaxes against my hand, and I bring the other up to rest on her side. She grabs it, moving it over to her belly. She takes a deep breath, and a small smile forms on her beautiful lips.

"No one's ever touched me before." she whispers, meeting my eyes. "No one's ever touched me either." I murmur, pulling her back flush against my front as I envelop her in an embrace.

She turns in my arms, wraps her arms around my neck, and tangles her fingers in my hair. Standing on her tiptoes, she pulls me down and - _She's going to kiss me. Holy shit, she's going to kiss me. I feel like a teenager for being this excited by the thought of a girl kissing me, but HOLY SHIT SHE'S GOING TO KISS ME - _presses her lips to mine gently.

My eyes close as I run my fingers through her long brown locks and savor the sweet feeling of her lips on mine. She tugs on my hair, and I groan. _I am a Dom. I have to be in control. But this feels... good. So, so good._

Ana coaxes my lips apart, and slips her tongue in to stroke mine. I pull her tighter against me, reaching down to grab the backs of her thighs and lift her.

As she growls desirously, her legs wrap around my hips, and I groan again. I stumble backwards, falling on my back on the bed. _Fuck, this isn't right, I'm supposed to have control. But this feels right; it feels fantastic._

"Mrs. Grey, he's asleep."

"Taylor, if he's still asleep, then he must be ill."

"Mrs. Grey, please do not go in there. He has someone with him."

Ana sits up sharply, her gaze jumping between me and the door.

"Shit!" I hiss under my breath. "It's my mother."

* * *

**Ana's POV:  
**

_I'm insane. That's it. I've gone completely crazy. Here I am, standing in this damaged, arrogant, beautiful man's bedroom, wearing his t-shirt, and kissing him like he's the air I breathe._

He scoops up my thighs into his hands and holds me against him. Automatically, my legs lock around his hips. _Oh, look, little Grey has come out to play._

The eternally graceful Christian then stumbles, landing on the bed with me on top of him. _Fuck, where is this going? I can't do this... Goddammit, Ana, what the hell have you done?!_

Voices from outside the bedroom come crashing into my thoughts like a train with broken brakes.

"Mrs. Grey, he's asleep."

"Taylor, if he's still asleep, then he must be ill."

"Mrs. Grey, please do not go in there. He has someone with him."

"Shit!" Christian hisses. "It's my mother."

_THE FUCK?!_

I sit up, looking anxiously at the door, then back at him.

"We need to get dressed." Christian says as I shift off him. _How about no?_ "Do you expect me to go out there and carry on a conversation with her?!" He looks at me as if that's exactly what he expects. _You dickwad!_ "Hell no, Grey! I am not dressed properly-" He cuts me off with, "You look beautiful no matter what you wear." I glare at him. "Grey, even if that were true, how the fuck am I supposed explain what I'm doing here in only my pajamas?" "Wear something of mine." he says, going to his dresser and taking a t-shirt out. "Do you not realize what that insinuates?!" I growl.

That evil gleam of something untold appears in his eyes and his smirk, making me shudder in fear. "I know exactly what it means, Anastasia."

"Grey," I murmur, my voice quaking, "Go talk to your mom. Tell her I'm asleep."

His mouth presses into a hard line. He eyes me speculatively for a moment, then leaves the room.

_What does that look mean? It can't be good. It's the look Demon used to have before-_

My thoughts take a sharp turn to the darkest recesses of my mind, and I scramble into the bathroom. I kneel in front of the toilet, my stomach churning and twisting as I expel everything from inside.

When that agony ends, I collapse on my back on the hard floor and press my heated, sweaty face into the cool tiles.

"Ana?" _Gail. _I try to talk, to tell her I'm fine, but the only thing that comes out is a groan.

Footsteps, a gasp, and then Gail is next to me on the floor. "Gail," I croak, "I'm fine." "Ana, you are most certainly not fine." she says firmly. "Jason!" she calls. _Who the hell is Jason? _"Jason!"

Heavier footsteps, and then Taylor has joined us in the bathroom. "Jason, help me get her off the floor." she orders. "Gail, please, just give me a second, I'm alright." I mumble, my stomach clenching tortuously. They both ignore me, and Taylor gently scoops me up as if I were nothing more a rag-doll. With him holding me upright, I start shuffling out of the bathroom.

"Your name's Jason?" I question, my voice hoarse. "Jason Taylor, ma'am." For some reason, I grin at that as he sets me on Christian's bed.

Gail is back, this time with a thermometer and a wet washcloth. "I'm not sick." I insist. "Ana, you just threw up in the bathroom, and your face is white aside from the red on your cheeks. You are not fine." I scowl, but open my mouth to receive the thermometer.

"Jason, get me a bottle of Gatorade, please." Gail requests, and Taylor leaves, shutting the door behind himself.

Only a second later, the door flies open, and Christian bursts in. "What the hell, Ana?" he shouts.

I start trembling all over as my stomach flips. "Mr. Grey, Miss Steele is ill and would appreciate it if you left." Gail says, standing tall and brave in the face of furious Christian Grey. "I'm not going anywhere until someone tells me what the fuck is going on!"

"Christian Trevelyan-Grey!" Everyone looks to the door, where a pretty, professional-looking woman enters from, glaring at Christian. "How dare you speak to anyone, especially Mrs. Jones, in such a manner!" He runs his hands through his hair, messing it further.

_Fuck this. _I pull the blankets up above my head and close my eyes.

"Apologize this moment and do as she requested." the woman commands. "My apologies, Mrs. Jones, for my outburst." Grey grumbles, then I hear his footsteps moving away.

"Gail, can I help?" the woman asks. "I hope so, Mrs. Grey." _Oh, cool, Christian's mother is going to see me in his shirt and looking gross from puking. Awesome. Just damn great._

Mustering up my courage, I push the blanket down and make an effort to sit up. "Well, these are rather wretched circumstances to meet under," I murmur, "but hello, I'm Anastasia Steele." Mrs. Grey looks at me, smiling oddly. "Hello, Anastasia. I'm Grace Trevelyan-Grey, but just call me Grace." "Call me Ana. And please, don't be concerned about me, I'm perfectly fine."

Taylor reappears, holding a big bottle of Gatorade. He hands it silently to Mrs. Jones as she thanks him. "I assumed after vomiting her electrolytes needed to be restored." Gail explains to Grace as she twists the cap off the bottle. She hands me the bottle as Grace nods. "Gail, Grace, I promise I'm alright. There is no reason to fuss over me. I've had events like this happen before." "Dear, do you frequently vomit or feel faint?" Grace asks gently. "No. This is a small problem I have occasionally, but I assure you, I know the cause and treatment."

They both look at me skeptically, Taylor impassively. To please them, I take a few large drinks of the Gatorade. "Alright," Grace concedes, "But don't hesitate to call if you have any more of these spells. Christian has my number." "Thank you, Grace." She holds out her hand, we shake, and she leaves the room.

"Are you sure you're okay, Ana?" Gail asks softly. "Certain, Gail. Thank you." "Drink your Gatorade. I'm right here if you need anything." I thank her again as she leaves, Taylor following behind her.

I set the bottle on the bedside table and lean back.

The door opens suddenly, and then he's in here, yelling, "Anastasia, what the hell-" "Stop." I whisper. He silences immediately. I remove the covers from my body and stand.

"Grey, I refuse to do sit here and let you switch back and forth from this shouting, controlling, egotistical beast to a gentle, caring person that seems to actually know what emotions are. If you think this is okay, then forget about me."

He stares at me blankly for a moment. "Ana... this is not easy for me. I don't know how to do this." He waves between us. "Yes, you do; I've seen you do it, Christian, and I'd love to see you do more. You're brilliant, you have the drive, and I know you can do it. However, you must learn what not to do." "Then teach me, for Christ's sake!" he demands, stepping closer to me. "If I'm making you unhappy, then you have to teach me how to make you happy." "Christian-" "Ana, please."

Suddenly, he's right in front of me, palms cupping my cheeks and gaze burning into mine. "You mean too much for me to let you go. Whatever I've done wrong, I can fix, I promise. That day at the Heathman, you gave me a chance, and I'm going to make the most of it. We're getting to know each other, Ana. This is confusing and scary as hell, but we're farther along today than we were that day. See?" He takes my hand and presses it to his chest. "You can do what no else has ever been able to do before."

"Okay." I take and hold his hands in mine. "I will help you learn, but you have to listen to me, okay? I'm going to mess up too, so you can't turn all Incredible Hulk on me when I do. When someone messes up, we'll take time to collect our thoughts and talk about it."

He nods, looking eager.

"Christian, we need to slow down. In the few days I've spent with you, I've had two psychotic breakdowns, slept in someone's bed other than mine for the first time, met a boy's mother, shared my life story, and been given a life story. I'm going crazy, and I need time to recover."

"We'll do whatever you need to do." he says softly. I smile. "Thank you."

He folds me into his arms, and I rest my head on his chest.

"Ana, why did you vomit? Are you ill?" he murmurs worriedly, stroking my hair. "It's nothing. I'm fine." He tips my head with his finger under my chin. "People don't just throw up for no reason, Ana." "I know, Christian. My thoughts just went to a bad place."

Gathering me into his arms, he sits on the bed and holds me on his lap sideways. "Please, tell me, Ana. I just want to help." I sigh, giving in. "I thought about... Demon... and when I do that, I get sick. It's happened before." "Demon?" Christian murmurs, his brow furrowing. Then his eyes widen as the light bulb comes on. "Why would you be thinking about him?" he asks, horrified.

I bury my face in his shoulder.

"Anastasia, tell me." he commands.

I sit up, looking at him sternly. "You cannot tell me what to do, Christian. That is unacceptable." His face softens, and he nods. "I'm sorry. I'll try not to do so. But, please, let me know so I can help." His gray pools plead with me.

"It's really nothing, Christian. Just let it go, please." With a sigh, he concedes. "Okay."

_I'm okay. We're okay. This can work._

_I hope._


	10. Chapter 10

**fRICKITY fRACK. I gotta get my shit together, guys, and find a plot. Anyhow, here we are, chapter ten! From the reviews I've gotten so far, everyone's enjoying the story. If there are any questions, please feel free to PM me. I will do my best to get back to you as soon as possible.**

**Thank you, and have fun!**

* * *

**Ana's POV:**

Kate was pissed - and when I say pissed, I mean insanely, screamingly, royally pissed - when I arrived back at the apartment.

I apologized for running out last, explained that I assumed my episode was a result from having told my tale to Christian the night before.

This is the only reason I can formulate. Before I told him, I had never told anyone before. I refused to speak of it to Ray, so he had to learn everything from the authorities, and I've only told Kate the bare minimum, very few tidbits, so she doesn't freak out when I have nightmares, an episode, a breakdown, or whatever. She knows I don't like touch and respects my boundaries.

She them very firmly requested every little detail I was willing to share, and I provided enough to soothe her journalist nature without giving a word of Christian's past. After that, I explained I was in desperate need of a shower and a change of a clothes, and she let me go about my tasks.

In the shower, the image of Christian as he told me his story is stuck in my head. His look of confusion and despair at his mother's lack of emotion toward him and anger for the acts done my his mother's pimp. The little burn scars on his chest and stomach that I know to him are humongous pits oozing with the pain he feels.

On another note, holy shit! That man works out! I couldn't help but noticed he defined, cut pectorals and abs, and his well-toned arms. I don't particularly like the body-builder type, but strong, powerful muscles are very, _very _good.

I finish in the shower and step out, drying myself and twisting my hair up in a towel. The mirror shows the scars on my back, stomach, and thighs. I frown at the reflection and wrap the towel around my body, feeling self-conscious.

After dressing in a casual gray skirt and purple long-sleeve t-shirt and securing my hair in a bun, I go to the kitchen and rummage through the nearly empty fridge. "Katherine Kavanagh!" I shout. She peeks her head around the corner a moment later. "What do you call this?" I open the door of the refrigerator. She grins sheepishly. "You know I can't cook!" she argues. I throw my hands in the air, exasperated. I go to my bedroom, put on a pair of flats, and grab my purse with wallet, keys, and phone. "I'm going to the grocery store!" I call as I leave the apartment.

I get in my car and drive to the nearest grocery shop to get necessities for the kitchen. Halfway there, I notice a black Audi a few cars behind me. Not Christian, I tell myself. Other people can drive a black Audi.

The store is quiet with few other people milling around. I grab a basket by the front entrance and make my way through the store, picking up a items as I move down the aisles.

A presence behind me makes my skin prickle, and I discreetly glimpse over my shoulder. The only person in view is a tall, muscled man in jeans and a t-shirt. For now, I ignore him and continue on, hoping he'll go away.

Alas, every once in a while I turn and he's somewhere near me. After trailing behind me for this entire time, the only thing in his cart is a box of Cheerios, a roll of paper towels, and a carton of milk.

Just to be sure, I walk quickly back the first aisle I went to, walk the length of it, and turn around just in time to see the guy enter the aisle. _Damn._

I walk to the checkout counter and place my basket on the belt. The cashier rings the items and bags them, I pay, take the bags, and walk out of the store.

While placing my bags in the front passenger seat of my car, I see the Audi that followed me parked a few spaces over, and then man from inside the store gets in the driver's seat.

I get in my car and sit there, engine off, while I remove my phone from my purse and call Christian. "Hi, Ana." "Someone's following me." Something falls and crashes, then I hear Christian shout for Taylor. Then, more muffled, I hear, "Taylor, who's on Ana?" "Christian, what are you talking about?" "Nothing, Ana." he mumbles, feigning nonchalance. "Christian Grey, tell me what the hell is going on." He's quiet, then, "No one's following you. Your security detail is with you." "_Security detail_?!" I screech. I take a deep breath, let it out slowly, and mutter, "I will talk to you later."

Hanging up, I get out of my car and approach the Audi. The widow immediately rolls down, and the guy from inside the store looks at me impassively. "You're my security detail." I state. "Yes, ma'am." he answers. "Your name?" "Sawyer, ma'am." I raise an eyebrow. "Now, Mr. Sawyer, if you're going to trail after me everywhere, I think I should at least know your full name." "Luke Sawyer, ma'am." "Luke, call me Ana." "Yes, ma-" I glare at him "-Ana." I smile. "Good. We're going home."

I get in my car and go home, the Audi behind me the whole way.

At the apartment, Luke insists on carrying the grocery sacks in for me. I give in, letting him help, and lead him inside.

Kate, lounging in the living rooms, bounds up when she sees I have company. "Kate, Luke Sawyer, security detail. Luke, Katherine Kavanagh, roommate." They shake hands, and Kate looks at me with big eyes. "Luke, have a seat in the living room." He nods and departs.

"Security detail?" she questions, assisting with putting away groceries.

"Assigned by Grey himself." I mutter. "We'll be having a talk about this."

* * *

**Christian's POV:  
**

My eyes flick back and forth between the computer screen and my blackberry. Ana said she'd "talk to me later," but she hasn't called.

_She hasn't called. Why hasn't she called?_

Just as I think this, my blackberry jumps to life. I snatch it up and answer without looking.

"Hey."

_Was that too excited? Does she know I've been sitting here waiting for her call?_

"Christian, dear," Elena purrs, her voice sickly sweet.

Frowning, I mutter, "Elena? What do you want?"

"I'm in the understanding that you're in need of a new sub. I've been perusing the clubs and speaking to my contacts, and there's this wonderful girl-"

"No, Elena. I don't need a new sub."

"There hasn't been one since-"

"Elena, listen to me - _I don't need a new sub._"

"Oh... Have you found one on your own, then?" Her voice, always nasally and slightly irritating, takes on a strange tone.

"I have a girl that I have been seeing."

"What's her name? I would be pleased to get a background check and thoughts from her past Doms-"

"NO, ELENA!" I shout, slamming my fist down on my desk. She goes silent.

"I do not need your involvement with this. I can handle my own relationships." I say through gritted teeth. "She isn't a submissive."

"Christian, I highly advise against engaging in relations with those unlike us." she says, her tone hushed as if she were sharing a secret. "You can't expect this to end well."

_I don't want it to end at all._

"She's different, Elena. I don't want that with her."

"This is not like you, Christian. You're concerning me."

"Stay out of it, Elena." With that, I hang up.

I slump in my desk chair, running my hand over my face and through my hair.

The buzzing of my blackberry startles me, and I look at the name before answering. "Hi, Ana."

"Grey." she responds curtly. "I'll be expecting you at my apartment at five thirty this evening." "I'll be there." "Fine. Be prepared to talk." _Click._

I stare at the device in my hand. _Shit - I'm in trouble._

* * *

After showering and dressing in dark wash jeans and a dark green crew-neck sweater, I put on solid black kicks, a black sport jacket, and try not obsess over how I look. _Goddammit, I am not a fucking teenager. Quit looking in the mirror._

Exiting my bedroom, I find Taylor waiting in the entry. "Taylor?" "Sir." "Fetch Mrs. Jones," I request. "Please," I add as an afterthought.

Nodding, he leaves and is back in only a moment with Mrs. Jones. "Mr. Grey." "Gail, I need an honest opinion." She looks startled, but nods. "Do I look okay?" I hold out my arms, displaying myself. _FUCKING HELL, GREY, STOP THIS SHIT. YOU LOOK FINE. YOU DON'T NEED ANYBODY'S GODDAMN OPINION. _Ignoring the screaming voice in my head, I await Mrs. Jones's response, which is a mildly confused, "You look excellent, sir. Very handsome." I mumble a thanks and quickly go to the elevator. _What the fuck is wrong with me?_

Taylor is right behind me entering the elevator. The doors slide shut, and we're whisked down below ground. Silence surrounds me as I enter my vehicle and Taylor shuts the door, then gets in.

I stare out the window, musing over the sudden, dramatic changes in me. I've taken a girl out on dates. I've slept with a girl, - actual sleeping was involved - once in my bed, and on every occasion, I have not had a nightmare. I've played the piano for a girl - not just played the piano while a girl was in the room, but actually played _for _her. I've begged for the chance to "get to know" someone - I don't "get to know" anybody. I don't care about "getting to know" anyone - except _her_. I actually care about how I look when I'm going to see _her_. I've told _her_ more than I've told anybody about my past.

And, the strangest, most frightening, most confusing thing of all, I've let her _touch my chest._

It's insane.

And weird.

And scary.

And exhilarating.

_Fuck. What has she done to me?_

* * *

The time is five thirty on the dot.

Ana's apartment door looks oddly daunting. _Don't be a pussy. We're just going to talk. It's fine. What could go wrong? Well, I could say something stupid and make her hate me, make her be afraid of me, or - the most most intimidating outcome - make her like me. God, stop this inner-monologue shit and get on with it, Grey! This is ridiculous. I am a billionaire CEO, I am a Dom, and I am not scared of a little woman. Even though she is a very strong, self-powered, driven woman, who will tear me a new asshole if she feels I've deserving of it, which if she thinks so, I probably am. FUCKING FUCKERS, GREY, GET ON WITH IT! KNOCK, FOR CHRIST'S SAKE! _

Rapidly and with more force than probably necessary, I knock on the door.

Soft footsteps are heard, then a lock moves, and the door opens. "Grey." Katherine greets with boredom. "Miss Kavanagh." She ushers me in, shutting the door behind me. "Ana," she calls with a sing-song voice into the apartment. "Your maaaaaaan is heeeeeeeeere!"

"Weirdo." Ana's gently teasing voice replies as she appears from a hallway.

I admire her, casually dressed in a gray skirt and purple shirt with long sleeves. Her feet are bare, and her hair has been parted on the side, drawn into a braid draped over her shoulder.

Kate grins at her roommate before skipping off to unknown locations.

"Hello, Christian. Make yourself comfortable." she says politely, leading me into the living room. Her apartment is not big, but cozy and warm, inviting and homey.

"Would you like something to drink? Coffee, tea, soda?" she offers. "No, thank you." I murmur, watching as she goes into the kitchen.

When she comes back in the room, she has a teacup in one hand. She sets her cup on the coffee table as she sits.

"How has your day been?" she asks. "Relatively uneventful. Yours?" Raising an eyebrow, she says, "Similar."

"You seem eager to get on with our discussion." she comments. I only nod. "Shall we begin?

"First, the security detail. This is unacceptable." "This is non-negotiable." I retort. Her expression hardens. "Please explain to me why I need security." "I need to know you're safe." "Am I in danger?" "If we continue to see each other, you may very well be." "And you didn't feel the need to discuss this with me?"

Those dark pools of velvety chocolate narrow as a small scowl forms between her brows.

"I'm not relenting on this, Anastasia." I say firmly. "Did you _think_, did you even _consider_, that I might want to be aware of this substantial change in_ my _life?" _Shit, what do I say? Honesty is probably the best route here. _"No. I only thought about keeping you safe."

I inch my hand closer to her, desperate to touch her, but she reaches out and picks up her teacup, holding it with both hands.

After sipping her beverage contemplatively for a moment, she looks at me and says, "When your decisions will have an impact - any sort of impact, no matter how insignificant or immense - on me, you must talk to me about it first."

Her expression is softer, but stern.

"Okay," I say slowly, "I will try. However, I am not budging on this. You need to be safe."

She purses her lips, takes a drink of whatever liquid is in her cup, and nods once. "Fine, but I have conditions. He can't follow me into the bathroom. I don't care what your dress code is, but he will not be wearing a suit unless absolutely necessary. He is allowed to be casual with me, and by casual, I mean we interact like friends. He may be your employee, but he is not mine. If you want me to go along with this, I have to be comfortable with him."

_At least she's agreeing. She's not completely against it._

"Alright. Thank you for cooperating with me."

"Now, your stalker tendencies. Also unacceptable. If you need information about me, you ask me. Understood?" "Ana, I'm used to knowing everything when I want to know it." "That's fine. I don't care about other things, but when it's information about me or my life you can ask me."

She's calm, but immovable. "This is non-negotiable, Christian."

I sigh, rake my hand through my hair, and nod. "Fine. I'll try." "Thank you."

Then Ana leans in, captures my cheek in her petite hand, and touches her exquisite lips to mine. The suddenness of the movement delays my reaction by a short moment. My hand cradles her head, my eyes close, and my lips mold to hers. She slides her hand up, slipping her delicate fingers into my hair.

I swipe the tip of my tongue over her plump bottom lip, and she grants me access.

Her tongue lightly strokes mine as I curl my arm around her waist. I pull her across my lap, her chest to mine with her astride me.

She gasps, snatching away from me abruptly, leaving me feeling bereft. I open my eyes to meet her gaze, but her eyes are shut tightly, as if in pain.

"Ana...?"

She covers my mouth her hand, breathing deeply to herself and mouthing words so quickly I can't make them out. Lids slowly rising, she looks at me under her lashes timidly.

"I'm sorry. I'm still not used to being touched." she murmurs.

It's then I realize that I touched her no-go zone without any warning. My eyes widen at this. _Damn it, Grey! Be careful!_

"No, I'm sorry, I didn't even think about it." I mumble, looking down. "It's okay." she says softly, smiling reassuringly.

_Her smile is radiant. Brilliant. Perfect._

_I'm so fucking sappy._

Even if admitting this makes me the biggest sucker in the world, I vow to myself here and now that I will do everything I can to make her smile, even if it isn't directed at me.

Her gentle lips then brush along my jaw while her right hand drifts down, her fingertips the only thing touching my skin. A zap of electricity surges through my body at every point of contact.

She presses her cheek to mine as I feel her hand rest lightly on my shoulder. I stiffen when she very carefully touches my chest, and she whispers so softly in my ear, "I'm here, my darling. You're safe. No one can hurt you."

As if a switch had been flipped, I melt into the sofa. The feeling of her touching my chest does not produce fear but instead brings comfort and warmth. I close my eyes when Ana brings her lips back to mine, and we instantly reconnect.

She tastes of peach tea and something else that is entirely unique and perfectly Ana._Oh God, she's wonderful. _I never want this moment to end.

Mini-me is up and ready to go, but I'm desperately trying to make him stand down so as not to disturb Ana. While I'm putting forth my efforts, Ana grinds her hips against mine, and I can't help the groan that escapes.

_Sweet Jesus, if she does that again, I may not be able to control myself._

One of her hands has the material of my sweater in her fist, and the other is tugging on my hair, encouraging the Grey downstairs.

_Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck YES_

"Ana, I-"

The voice from out of the blue brings my erratic thoughts and the growing tent in my pants to a screeching halt.

Ana pulls away, her eyes and mine locking for a moment full of a tense, charged emotion that I cannot comprehend.

She slides off of me, standing and facing Katherine, who is staring at us in utter shock.

"Yes, Kate?" Ana says calmly, looking at her roommate evenly. "I-I... uh... I'm going out... call me, you know, if you... need me... um, bye." Kate stutters, then slowly turns and walks to the door, looking over her shoulder at Ana and me as she goes.

There's a quiet moment, a car drives off, then Ana starts laughing madly. She turns to me, an oddly delighted grin gracing her features.

"Mind cluing me in on the joke?" I ask, standing from the couch. "Kate's never stuttered before. It's quite the spectacle." she murmurs, giggling.

Her hand finds mine, her fingers pushing between mine. She looks down at our interlocked hands almost timidly. _Timidity is certainly not a characteristic__ I would expect from the facile Miss Steele. _Her eyes dart up for a nanosecond, locking with mine, her teeth clamped on her lower lip nervously.

In a flash, all signs of meekness vanish, and Ana is standing tall, hand firmly clasping mine, eyes meeting mine. _What...?_

"Would you like to stay for dinner?" she asks brightly. "Dinner would be lovely." I murmur, bemused.

The small, soft hand leaves my grasp, replaced by a lonely cold. I follow her into the kitchen, standing by the island while she searches the contents of the refrigerator. "And what would Mr. Grey fancy to feast upon tonight, hm?" Ana ponders. "Whatever Miss Steele decides." I reply, grinning in a somewhat maniacal fashion. "Well, we have the makings for sandwiches, soup... perhaps a pasta or chicken dish... hm..." She closes the fridge and wanders to the cabinets.

"Mac n cheese?" I mumble, hopeful. She looks at me over her shoulder. "You like macaroni and cheese?" she asks, her voice holding some tender, unnamed emotion. I nod, smiling and saying, "It's my favorite food." "Then mac and cheese it shall be."

As she begins gathering the necessary ingredients and supplies, I start to fidget. Ana looks at me, frowning slightly. "Make yourself comfortable." It's not a request she speaks; it's an order. She stops what she's doing and comes to me, shoving her little hands under the jacket on my shoulders. Not so gently, she removes it from me, draping it over an empty space of countertop, and I'm left in a white t-shirt covered by my sweater. "Take off your shoes." I do as told, placing them out of the way.

"Good." she declares, looking over me. "You're so stuffy sometimes." she adds in a muttered voice. I raise a brow. _No one's ever called me stuffy before. _

"Take this," she says, handing me a pot, "and fill it three quarters full of hot water." While she returns to mixing seasonings and other ingredients in a glass bowl, I take the pot to the sink and follow her commands. As soon as the flow of water from the sink cuts off, Ana gives me another task. "Put the pot on the stove at high heat." _This is easy. _I carry out her order, listening as she hums to herself.

Glittering blue eyes peek over her shoulder at me, and she smiles. "Does something amuse you, Miss Steele?" I murmur, moving to stand behind her. "You just look very... domestic. It's strange, but I like it." she says, shrugging.

My arms snake around her waist, holding her back against my chest. "I like you." I whisper, kissing the top of her head. Ana dips the tip of her finger into the thick, yellowish mixture in the bowl, then turns and dabs it on my nose while murmuring, "You're cheesy." MY responding laugh is unlike that of any laugh I have uttered before, and her gigantic smile is brighter and more beautiful than anything else in the universe.

* * *

After devouring Ana's delicious mac n cheese, she and I sit on the floor in the living room. My back is against the sofa, and she is sitting between my outstretched legs, her back to me.

While she scrolls through movies on Netflix, I take her braid and undo it. I play with her long, silky hair - running my fingers through it, twisting and braiding it. "Your hair smells like strawberries." I mumble. "My shampoo." she answers absentmindedly.

She selects a movie and leans back against me, taking my right hand and weaving our fingers together.

"Ana?" I whisper as the movie's opening scene begins. "Yeah?" she whispers back. "Is this what normal couples do?" I feel like a complete fool for needing answers to questions like these. "I dunno." she mumbles, lifting one shoulder in a shrug. "I don't care. It makes me happy, whether 'normal couples'," she mimes quotes with her fingers in the air, "do it or not." She turns, looking at me over her shoulder. "Are you happy?" she asks softly. I can't help leaning forward and capturing her lips with mine for a moment. "I am very happy, Ana." I whisper. "Good." she murmurs.

With Ana snuggled against me, we watch the movie in peace. I barely manage to pay attention as I lightly trail my fingers up and down her arms and sides, while leaving a path of little kisses on the column of her throat. She squirms before swatting my knee playfully, then taking my hands in hers and holding them in her lap.

A slow drizzle of rain begins halfway through the movie, and by the time it's over, the drizzle has become a downpour.

Ana walks with me to the door, handing me my jacket after I put on my shoes. "Thank you for dinner and your company. It was very pleasant." I say as I slip into the jacket. "You're welcome." she replies.

To my immense surprise, she grabs my jacket and pulls me down to her, kissing me fiercely. One of her hands slips around to tangle in the hair at nape of my neck. I curl my left hand around her side and cup her cheek in my right. All at once and all too soon, she lets go and steps back, smirking at me.

She reaches for the front door, opening it. I grin, kissing the top of her head quickly and murmuring, "I'll call." As I step out, she says, "Goodnight, Christian." "Goodnight, Ana." I say over my shoulder. Her sweet smile and sparkling eyes are implanted in my mind eternally.


	11. Chapter 11

**Greetings, dear readers! How are you all? I hope you are well.**

**No words on the chapter. Just... read.**

**On with the tale!**

* * *

**Ana's POV:**

Three days pass.

In that time, I attend my job interviews. All go smoothly, and while I am hoping to get an offer from any one of them, I am exceptionally excited about one company, Seattle Independent Publishing. It seems to be a comfortable, jovial workplace.

The plane ticket for my annual trip to Texas has been purchased. It now sits on the desk in my bedroom, taunting me mercilessly.

I have not received word from Christian in any form. At first it concerns me, but I remind myself that he has an empire to run. He has more important things to do than talk to me.

Kate never shuts up about Elliot, but I let her ramble on to her heart's content. Her joy fills the apartment and my lonely hours.

On the fourth day since speaking to Christian, I get a phone call.

* * *

I'm sitting in my bed, reading an old novel, when my cell phone buzzes. I take it from the bedside table. _Who is calling at damn near midnight?_

"Hello?"

"Ana!" Christian gasps. "Ana, h-help m-me." he stutters, the fear in his tone stopping my heart.

_Don't freak out. Stay calm._

"Christian, tell me what's going on." I say softly, getting up from my bed and grabbing jeans from my closet. I tuck the phone between my shoulder and ear as I tug on the pants. I step into black flats.

"Ana," he whimpers. "Are you at home, Christian?" He mumbles in the affirmative. "I'm coming, Christian. Stay right where you are and wait for me, okay?" "Okay." he whispers, his voice trembling." "I'm coming, sweetheart, I promise." I hang up, stuffing the phone into my pocket.

Grabbing a backpack, I stuff a couple of shirts and pairs of jeans inside, then zip it up. I yank on a jacket as I walk to the kitchen. I grab the dry-erase marker hanging on the fridge next to the small whiteboard and scribble a sloppy note to Kate that I've gone to Christian's.

Snatching up my keys from the table in the entry, I run outside and jump into my car. I break the speed limit to get to Christian as quickly as I can.

I park in an open space in front of Escala. Taylor is waiting by the elevator when I get in the building, and he only nods in acknowledgment as he presses the button. We step into the elevator car, and he punches in the code.

"What happened, Taylor? Is he hurt?" I ask, looking to the bear of a man beside me. Taylor looks uncomfortable for a moment, then says, "He has nightmares, and a particularly gruesome dream must have come to him tonight. He was screaming and thrashing. I tried to restrain him so he wouldn't hurt himself, and he panicked."

The doors open, and I hurry into the apartment. Through the glass wall, I can see him sitting on the balcony overlooking the city. I run to the door and open it, stepping out into the cold air. He's sitting on the ground, wearing nothing but a pair of shorts.

"Christian," I breathe, dropping my backpack. He looks up at me, his eyes wide and scared.

I kneel next to him and reach out to touch his hand. He flinches at first, then relaxes. His fingers are icy cold. "Christian, you need to come inside." I tell him gently.

"She hates me." he whispers, staring off into the distance. _Who?_ "Her pimp hates me." _Oh, the crack-whore._ "He hurts me." He blinks, and looks up at me. "I'm scared." Seeing the mighty and powerful Christian Grey curled up and frightened breaks my heart. "He's going to hurt me."

My hands cup his cheeks, drawing him to me. "No one can hurt you. You're safe, sweetheart. I promise I won't let anyone hurt you." I say softly. He looks up at me, doubt in his eyes. "I promise, Christian.

"Now, you have to come inside. You'll get sick sitting out here." I stand and pull him to his feet. Picking up my backpack, I lead Christian inside and take him to his bedroom. I feel a warm fluid on my palms and look at the crimson pooling there. "Christian..." I turn his hands over, examining. Several cuts of varying length and depth litter the soft skin of his palms. "What happened, Christian?" "I broke a glass in my hand." he mumbles.

"Taylor!" I shout, and he comes running into the room a second later. "First aid kit, please." I request as I drag Christian to the bathroom. I run his hands under warm, gently flowing warm, then dab the wounds dry. Taylor hands me the box, and I thank him as I set it on the counter.

"I don't think you need stitches." I murmur. I remove the antibiotic cream and bandage wrap. I dab on the cream over his cuts and wrap the bandages around his hands, taping them securely. "Take these," I say, handing him pain pills and a cup of water. He obeys and drinks all the water.

"Good. Bed." I usher him out into the bedroom.

"Ana, no." he mumbles, grabbing me. "I can't sleep. He'll come back..." "Shh, Christian, I'll be right here. He won't hurt you." He nods slowly.

I draw back the covers on the bed, and he lies down. I remove my jacket and jeans, setting them with my backpack on the lone chair in the room. I climb into the bed next to him, and he immediately curls up against me. He rests his head on my chest and holds me tightly in his arms. I drape one arm across his back and cradle his head in my other.

"Thank you, Ana." he whispers, closing his eyes. "I'm just taking care of you, Christian. Go to sleep, and I'll be here when you wake up." "Okay, Ana." And he's asleep.

* * *

Not once that night did I doze off. My concern for the man in my arms has been unlike anything that I had ever felt for someone else before since I received his phone call. I have been anxiously combing his crazy, copper hair with my fingers and humming occasionally all night to keep him sleeping soundly.

The dawn is just peeking through the massive windows when his eyes flutter open.

Groggily, he looks up at me and blinks. "Ana?" he murmurs, surprised. "What are you doing here?"

"Do you remember last night, Christian?" I cup his cheek in my hand, stroking my thumb over his cheekbone. He shakes his head, scowling in confusion. "You called me just before midnight in a panic. I came here as fast as I could, and you were sitting outside. Taylor told me you had had a nightmare. You had been drinking, and you broke a glass, which is why your hands are bandaged."

"I remember my nightmare, but nothing after it." He looks at me with something akin to awe in his gaze. "You came here in the middle of the night." It's a statement, but I nod anyway.

I disentangle myself from his hold and slide out of the massive bed. "If you're okay now, I need to be going." I approach my backpack and take out a pair of black skinny jeans, sliding them on.

"Where are you going?" Christian is sitting up, watching me. "Home." I say curtly. I remove a black t-shirt. "May I use your bathroom?" He nods slowly, pointing to the door. "Thank you."

My reflection is a disturbing sight. I seem to be even more pale than usual. Dark circles hang under my eyes. Thin blue lines form a grotesque map under the skin of my arms and hands. Without my shirt, I can make out some of my ribs.

_"Ugly lil bitch," Demon slurs. He hurls the beer bottle at my head. I duck, and it shatters on the wall behind me. _**Smack!** _My cheek stings._

I gasp, collapsing on the floor and hugging myself.

"Ana?!"

_Get up!_

I quickly stand, grabbing my shirt and tugging it on. In the doorway, Christian is staring at me in horror. _Fuck. He saw._

He steps to the side as I storm out of the bathroom. I snatch up my backpack and jacket and put on my shoes. "Ana," I turn, meeting his disturbed gaze with a hard look. "Do you have to go?" His words and voice are so different from what I thought I was going to hear that I'm thrown. For a moment, I just stare, then respond with a mumbled, "What?" "Do you have to go home?" he asks. "Yes, Christian."

When I leave the bedroom, he follows me. "Stay for breakfast." he insists. "Mrs. Jones!" The woman appears instantly, looking at Christian expectantly. "I would like an omelet and toast, and Miss Steele will have pancakes, eggs, bacon, hashbrowns, and sausage." "Yes, sir." "No!" I glare at Grey, and he narrows his eyes at me. "I won't be having anything, Mrs. Jones. I'm going home, Grey."

I walk to the elevator, and a hand grabs my shoulder, yanking me backwards. Instinctively, I shove my elbow up under his ribs, knocking the air out of him. His hand loosens, and I whirl around. "Don't. Touch. Me." I hiss. His hands rest over the spot where I jabbed him, and he sucks in gulps of air. He's trying to glare at me, but all he can manage is stunned wonder and inquisitiveness.

"Ana," he says, breathy, "you need to eat." He straightens, his breathing regulated. "I'm not hungry." "Ana-" he growls, scowling, and is suddenly in my face, towering over me, and I have to tilt my head back. "You're too skinny." he mutters through clenched teeth. "You're not in charge of me." "Anastasia, you will sit down and eat!" he commands, yelling.

"I am not your dog. I am not your child. I am not yours. Get that through your thick skull." His eyes widen. _Of course, because no one ever dares to insult the Great Grey. _"I do not care how much money you have or how beautiful you are or how bad your psychological issues are, you cannot throw a temper tantrum when things don't go your way."

Our gazes are locked, both of us practically breathing fire.

Then he snatches me against him, slamming his lips on mine and shoving his tongue into my mouth.

_WHAT THE HELL?!_

I ram my knee into his groin, and he gasps, releasing me and falling to his knees. His hands cup his genitals as he groans. "Eat a bag of dicks, fuckball." I spit.

Across the room, Taylor and Gail are staring in bewildered horror. I look at them, composing my expression. "Please accept my sincerest of apologies for my foul language. Have a nice day." I say calmly, then turn and call the elevator.

* * *

"Steele! Explanation, now." Kate demands as I walk in the door.

"Grey was upset because of reasons I am not going to share and called me, so I went over to help him."

"And?" "This morning he was an extremely controlling asshole, I became pissed, and he kissed me."

Kate's eyes almost pop out of her head. "_He what?!_" "Kissed me. Of course, my automatic response was to knee him in the balls, tell him to eat a bag of dicks, and call him a fuckball." Kate can do nothing but stare. "What the hell is a fuckball?" she mutters. "I don't know!" I throw my hands in the air, confused by my own terminology. "After that, I apologized to his staff for using foul language, then left."

"Well that's... um... that's..." "Yeah. I'm going to pack." As I start walking toward my bedroom, Kate calls me.

Her expression has softened into something much more gentle and emotional than the Katherine Kavanagh most people know. "We've been roommates for four years, and every year you've taken this trip. You never tell anyone where you're going. Do you know how scary that is? To not know where your best friend is, or what's happening to them?" "Kate, I have to take this trip. It's important to me. I know it's terrifying for you, but I've been taking this trip for years, and I've always came back just fine. This year will be no different." Looking doubtful, she nods.

I walk back to my bedroom and fold and pack a change of clothes into my backpack. I put my toiletries, my phone, and a few books in with the clothes. With a hair elastic, I secure my hand into a ponytail, then I grab my plane ticket and go out into the living room.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Kate." I hug her quickly, then leave the apartment and drive to the airport.


End file.
